JN  vtHSIIY  OF  CA  RIVERSIDE 


3  121001851  6615 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 

GIFT  OF 
JOHN  V.  DENVER 


MADALINE. 


MADALINE: 


A  POEM. 


BY     - 


A.  MABEL  (gT  FITCH. 


CHICAGO : 
HENRY    A.   SUMNER   &    COMPANY. 

1881. 


COPYRIGHT, 

A.   MABEL    B.   FITCH. 

1881. 


PRINTED  BY   DONNELLEY,   GASSETTE   A   LOYI). 
BOUND  BY   A.   J.   COX   &   CO. 


TO 

MR.    AND    MRS.    A.    J.    BLACKMAN. 

TO  YOU, 

MY  DEAE  FATHER  AND  MOTHER, 

WOULD  I  DEDICATE  MY  FIRST  LITERARY  LABOR.    I  SINCERELY  WISH  IT 

WERE  MORE  WORTHY  YOUR  ACCEPTANCE;  BUT  SUCH  AS 

IT  IS,  I  TENDER  IT  WITH  MY  WARMEST 

AFFECTION. 


PKEFACE. 


My  Madaline :  Pve  drawn,  as  best  I  might, 
A  portrait  of  thy  character ;  its  faults  and  all ; 
With  truth's  own  pencil ;  making  it  more  true, 
Perhaps,  than  beautiful :  few  may  admire, 
And  very  many,  doubtless,  will  condemn ; 
Yet,  I  will  trust  one  here  and  there  may  see, 
Looking  beneath  the  faulty  surface  lines, 
A  spirit  they  can  understand,  and  love. 


MAD  ALINE. 


CANTO    I. 

In  trav'ling  o'er  some  western  prairie,  where 

The  sameness  stretches  far  as  eye  can  reach, 

One  now  and  then  comes  suddenly  in  sight 

Of  lovely,  winding  valley  of  a  stream  ; 

Whose  silver  waters,  here  and  there,  he  sees 

Gleaming  among  the  trees  which  skirt  its  banks. 

A  tiny  village  nestles  closely  by  ; 

With  single  store,  and  church  ;  —  or,  if  no  church, 

The  simple  building  where  the  people  go 

To  "meeting,"  and  the  children  go  to  school  ;  — 

And  dotting  the  space  beyond  the  village,  are 

Farm  houses  on  the  thrifty  farms,  from  small 

Log  cabin,  to  the  more  pretentious  frame  ; 

And  then  the  hills,  and  prairie  land,  again. 


10  MADALINE. 


Lonely,  and  dreary,  are  these  prairie  lands, 
Even  when  clothed  in  purple  and  the  gold 
Of  regal  prairie  -  queen  and  golden -rod,— 
Or  softened  by  the  mild  and  hazy  light 
Of  Indian  Summer.     Thus,  to  the  traveller 
These  cozy  valleys  real  oases  seem, 
Where  in  the  grassy  desert  he  may  rest. 

A  farmer  boy, —  these  words  are  sweet  to  me 

And  bring  a  vision  of  a  nature,  fresh, 

And  pure,  as  are  the  crystal  springs  from  which 

He  drinks.     Yet,  I  admit  it  true, 

That  there  are  farmer  boys,  and  farmer  boys  ; 

And  that  the  vicious  ones,  more  vicious  seem, 

Than  those  who  more  than  equal  them  in  vice, 

But  who  have  learned  to  gloss  their  evil  deeds, 

Until  men  vice  almost  for  virtue  take. 

In  such  a  valley  as  I  have  described, 

And  from  the  little  town  two  miles  removed, 

On  a  small  farm,  in  small  home,  built  of  logs, 


MADALINE.  11 

A  score  of  years  ago  our  hero  lived. 
.  You  never  would  have  known  him  one,  indeed, 
Without  the  telling.     His  hands  were  rough  with 

work  , 

His  clothing  coarse,  home-made,  and  often  patched, 
And  on  his  feet  most  clumsy  covering. 
Clodhopper,  you  had  doubtless  called  the  boy  ; 
Alas  !     Men  judge  us  by  the  clothes  we  wear ; 
God,  sees  the  soul,  and  He  would  tell  you,  his 
Would  shamed  nine  -  tenths  of  all  the  souls  which 

walk 

Our  city  streets,  wrapped  in  the  latest  mode. 
That    soul  was  large,    and  deep  ;    yet  clear  and 

calm 

As  were  the  eyes  from  out  of  which  it  looked  ; 
And    light,     and     bright,    with     lofty,     constant 

hope. 

Despondent  clouds  no  more  than  cast  a  shade, 
Brief  and  quick  fleeing  as  the  shadows  which 
Glide  so  swiftly  o'er  the  Summer  fields. 


12  MAD  ALINE. 


Many  years  ago,  and  in  the  land 

Which  by  our  Pilgrim  Fathers  first  was  tilled, 

Young  Zachariah  Hamilton  had  wooed 

And  won  the  maiden  with  the  calm,  clear  eyes, 

And  open  brow,  she  has  our  hero  given. 

And  when  three  birdlings  came,  whose  open  mouths 

The  father  found  it  difficult  to  fill, 

He  took  his  little  family  and  moved 

To  the  more  fertile  regions  of  the  West ; 

Where  were  more  crumbs  and  not  so  many  birds. 

And  for  a  time  all  went  as  he  desired  ; 

Until  that  enemy  which  ever  lurks 

About  these  new  made  homes  to  seize  its  prey, 

Fastened  upon  him,  infusing  in  his  veins 

Its  venom,  dread  ;  whose  slow,  consuming  fire 

At  last  burned  up  ambition  and  his  hope. 

Thus,  on  the  faithful  Avife  fell  all  the  care 

And  management  of  their  small  farm  for  years. 

This  little  woman  was  but  weak  and  slight ; 

O 

Yet,  the  amount  of  labor  she  performed, 


MAD  ALINE.  13 


The  judgment,  and  great  patience,  that  she  showed, 
The  statesmanship  profound  which  she  displayed 
In  governing  her  family  of  boys, 
Were  truly  marvelous.     And  now  were  five, 
Who  called  her  mother.     All  of  them  were  boys  ; 
Who  now  for  six  years  had  been  fatherless. 
Our  hero  was  the  third,  who,  at  the  time 
Of  which  I  write,  had  fifteen  summers  seen. 

By  dint  of  planning  and  economy, 
The  products  of  the  farm  all  gathered  in, 
And  time  of  rest  from  farming  labor  come, 
Each  Winter  saw  these  boys  at  district  school. 
Through  all  the  other  eight  months  of  the  year 
About  their  home  were  busy  as  the  bees,— 
The  mother  with  true  wisdom  planning  all. 
The  smallest  hands  were  taught  to  be  of  use, 
Both  in  the  garden  and  the  house, —  the  while 
The  older  ones  were  working  in  the  fields  ; 
And  thus  the  sum  of  all  their  work  was  much, 


MADALINE. 


While  none  were  ever  worked  beyond  their  strength. 
True  —  cheerful  labor  brings  us  happiness,— 
You  had  not  found  a  happier  home  than  this 
Though   searching-  through  the  country  far  and 
wide. 

And  thus  had  fled  the  busy  years  till  now,— 
Brief,  precious  years  —  by  them  to  be  enshrined 
Among  most  sacred  memories  of  the  past ; 
To  look  upon  when  tired  with  the  world, — 
And  bring,  'mid  care  and  struggle,  thoughts  of 
rest. 

Bright,  manly  boys  were  these  five,  every  one, 
Down  to  the  youngest,  now  but  eight  years  old  ; 
But  Horace,  the  third  son,  more  than  the  rest, 
Had  longing  after  knowledge  of  all  kinds, 
Acquiring  it  more  readily  than  they. 
Although  thus  young,  this  boy  would  never  rest 
Until  he  an  assertion's  why  had  searched, — 


MADALINE. 


15 


And  delving  first  until  he  found  the  root, 
Outgrowths  required,  then,  no  pains  to  solve. 
So  in  the  village  school  it  happened  oft, 
Young  Horace  was  more  capable  to  teach 
His  teachers,  than  they  were  to  teach  him. 
In  consequence,  the  boy  for  some  time  past 
Had  longed  for  something  more,  some  real  work. 
That  would  require  all  his  energies  ; 
And  thirty  miles  away,  a  market  town 
Boasted  an  academy  for  boys  — 
And  could  he  but  go  there  —  the  thought  was  joy  ! 
But  then,  his  mother  —  he  would  be  leaving  her  ; 
He,  who,  when  all  the  others  had  retired, 
Lingered  to  see  that  naught  was  left  undone  ; 
Or  if,  indeed,  he  could  find  aught  to  do, 
To  make  her  coming  day's  work  easier  ; 
Who,  in  the  morning,  early  as  the  light, 
Was  up  to  build  her  fire  and  help  her  get 
The  breakfast,  ere  the  others  scarce  awaked  ; 
He.  who,  beside  his  own  allotted  work, 


MAD  ALINE. 


Found  scores  of  little  things  to  do  through  love. 

Not  that  the  others,  also,  did  not  well, 

But  he.  with  finer  instinct  and  forethought, 

Anticipated  mitch  that  they  did  not ; 

And  could  he  leave  her,  then,  and  go  away  ? 

He  pondered  long  before  he  spoke  to  her, 

But  at  the  last  came  to  her  with  his  thought ; 

How,  but  for  leaving  her,  would  not  delay 

To  set  his  feet  to  climb  the  mountain  high  — 

And  on  the  side  he  stood  —  all  trackless,  save 

Here  and  there  the  footprint  of  some  man, 

Of  great  and  lofty  courage,  who  had  dared 

To  climb  the  rugged  mount,  without  a  path  — 

This  Mount  of  Knowledge,  on  whose  heights  was 

space 

For  grander  living,  greater  deed  and  thought. 
And  shs,  who  knew  his  mind's  capacity, 
And  had  in  secret  also  often  wished 
For  this  son  better  opportunities, 
Now,  when  she  saw  his  strength  and  his  desire, 


MADALINE.  17 


Her  faith  in  him  caused  her  to  give  assent. 
No  thought  of  her,  indeed,  must  hinder  him  ! 
Yet,  warning  him  the  way  was  long  and  rough, 
Sharp  thorns  grew  thick,  and  ever  'and  anon 
Some  rocky  barrier,  or  swollen  stream, 
In  distance  now  unseen,  would  bar  his  way. 
And  then  he  bent  and  kissed  her,  with  a  smile  : 
"  Ah,  mother,  dear  !    You  know  that  I  can  swim, 
And  surely  will  not  mind  the  scratch  of  thorns  ; 
I  shall  not  shrink,  from  fear  to  dare  and  do  ; 
But,  if  the  heights  are  difficult  to  reach, 
The  greater  triumph  feel  in  gaining  them  ! " 
Thus  was  it  settled  he  should  go  from  Her. 

And    now    my    reader    asks,   from   whence    will 

come 

The  clothes,  the  books,  this  boy  will  surely  need  ? 
Ah  !  had  my  hero  waited  but  to  solve 
From  whence  should  come  what,  from  necessity,, 

He  knew  he  should  require,  had  never  gone  ! 
B          1* 


18  MADALINE. 


He  simply  left  the  will  to  make  the  way. 
And  now  one  moment  let  us  look  at  him 
While  lingering  on  the  -threshold  of  the  home, 
Absent  from  which,  scarce  one  day  of  his  life 
Has  ever  passed.     He  holds  his  mother's  hands  — 
That  mother  looking  on  him  with  her  eyes 
Full  of  great  faith  and  hope  and  love,  and  all 
Shining  through  the  glistening  tears  which  came, 
But  did  not  fall.     He  has  just  said  to  her 
That  she  must  never  have  one  fear  for  him  ; 
Although    he    may    work    hard,    is    young    and 

strong. 

To  which  she  answers  :  "I  shall  have  no  fear, 
For  I  can  trust  you,  Horace,  and  I  know 
That  if  so  all  be  right  within  yourself, 
All  else  is  surely  right  by  consequence." 

Wise  little  woman  !  loving,  sweet,  as  wise. 
My  heart  was  sad  when,  late  beside  her  grave, 
I  wondered  if  on  none  her  mantle  fell. 


MAD  ALINE.  19 


No  engine's  fierce,  demoniac  shrieks  as  yet 

Had  caused  one  rural  deity  to  flee 

From  that  secluded  valley's  loveliness  ; 

And  nymphs  of  wood  and  field  still  held  their  sway, 

Or  one  was  left  in  peace  to  dream  they  did. 

Not  e'en  a  coach  came  within  miles  of  them  ; 

But  Horace  sprang  with  lightness  on  the  load 

Of  high-piled  sacks  of  grain  ;  for  this  same  <town 

Was  market  for  the  products  of  the  farm. 

An  elder  brother  with  him  on  the  load, 

They  journeyed  all  the  day,  till  set  of  sun, 

Ere  they  descended  from  the  prairie  land 

Into  the  cleft,  between  the  high,  steep  bluffs 

Which  hem  the  mighty  Mississippi  in. 

This  cleft,  a  mile  in  length,  the  town's  main  street, 

The  foot  of  which  the  giant  river  washed, 

So  narrow  was,  the  space  on  either  side 

Was  not  sufficient  for  two  rows  of  homes, 

But  one  the  other  crowded  back  upon 

The  hills,  precipitous,  where  they  clung, 


20  MADALINE. 


As,  any  time  might  loose  their  hold  and  fall. 
This,  of  the  town,  was  all  that  you  could  see, 
Though,  truly,  being  scarce  one  half  of  it, 
By  carefully  exploring,  you  might  find 
There  was  a  labyrinth  of  smaller  clefts, 
With  houses  also  clinging  to  their  sides, 
Which  were  but  reached  by  long,  steep  flights  of 
stairs. 

The  boy  now  there  —  what  next  does  he  propose  ? 
Can  he  have  come  without  some  well-defined 
Plan  of  procedure,  in  his  rash,  young  mind  ? 
Rash  it  may  be  ;  and  yet,  mcthinks.it  true 
He,  who  would  win  Success,  at  first  must  woo 
Her  with  determination  strong  as  life, 
To  let  no  obstacle  prevent  his  suit  ; 
And  this  determination  Horace  had, 
And  this  was  all,  save  his  belief  that  'mong 
The  many  people  t)f  this  town,  were  some 
Who,  in  return  for  faithful  work,  would  give 


MAD  ALINE  21 


The  necessary  food  by  which  to  live, 

Yet  leave  him  time  his  studies  to  pursue. 

But,  what  means  take  to  find  if  this  were  true  ? 

Leaving  his  brother  continuing  his  way 

With  the  farm-treasures  to  the  market-place, 

For  two  long  hours,  he  went  from  door  to  door, 

And,  in  that  time,  he  his  first  lesson  conned 

In  that  distasteful  volume,  called  "the  World." 

This  knowledge,  still,  not  half  so  bitter  was 

To  Horace,  who  was  true  philosopher, 

As  to  a  nature  keenly  sensitive, 

Whose  tender  sensibilities  receive 

From  every  unkind  word,  or  look,  a  wound 

Sharp  as  a  dagger-thrust  is  to  the  flesh. 

And  yet,  our  Horace,  in  his  first  surprise 

At  seeing  some  door  rudely  close  on  him, 

Ere  scarce  he  had  his  simple  question  asked ; 

Or  saw  an  amused  smile  but  ill  concealed, 

As  some  at  his  apparel  cast  a  glance  ; 

(His  best,  well  kept  and  neat,  but  grown  too  small, 


22  MADALINE. 


Making  his  hands  and  feet  too  prominent) 
This  boy  who  wore  his  coarseness  in  his  clothes 
But  kept  his  soul  refined,  'tis  true,  at  first, 
All  this  felt  keenly,  and  would  turn  away 
With  hot  flushed  face,  drawing  up  so  straight 
He  would  have  measured  taller  by  an  inch. 
He  asked  no  favors,  would  accept  of  none, 

And  wanted  naught  for  which  he  could  not  give 

o 

Its  full  equivalent.     He  had  but  asked 

A  civil  question,  which,  of  right,  demands 

From  all,  a  civil  answer  in  return. 

And  on  from  door  to  door  our  hero  went, 
The  while  the  gloaming  deepened  into  night, 
Until  a  lady  with  a  heavenly  face 
(So  Horace  thought)  said  such  a  boy  as  he 
Was  just  the  one  they  had  been  looking  for. 

We  need  no  longer  closely  follow  him  ; 
It  is  the  starting  that  is  difficult ; 


MAD  ALINE.  23 


When  horses  have  a  heavy  load  to  draw, 

So  they  but  start  the  wheels,  can  draw  the  load, 

With  steady  effort,  even  up  the  hills. 

A  boy  upright  and  true  will  not  lack  friends, 

And  Heaven  e'er  helps  him  who  helps  himself. 

And  now  is  left  for  us  but  to  observe 

How  this  young  Horace  such  advancement  made 

As  to  surprise  both  teachers  and  his  friends  ; 

(We  prize  whatever  it  costs  us  pains  to  get ; 

Thus  did  this  boy  apply  himself  so  well 

He  with  less  talent  must  have  won  success.) 

And  as  the  years  went  by  and  he  at  length 

Passed  on  with  honors  into  college  life, 

How  proud  the  mother  and  the  brothers  grew 

Of  Horace's  learning  and  more  cultured  air  ; 

How  he,  with  all  his  work,  still  found  the  time 

To  send  them  little  tokens  of  his  love, 

And  loving  letters  filled  with  all  he  did  ; 

(O,  boys,  away  from  home,  write  oftener !) 

How,  through  his  teaching,  both  the  younger  boys 


MADALINE. 


Grew  thoughtful  of  their  mother  as  was  he, 

Which  made  it  far  less  hard  to  be  from  her  ; 

And  grown  a  man,  complete  in  college  lore, 

How  he  with  his  first  earnings  built  a  home 

Of  larger  size  upon  the  little  farm, 

With  all  that  architect  could  well  devise, 

Of  comfort  and  convenience,  for  the  one 

Whose  sweet  smiles  of  approval  would  alone 

Have  fully  recompensed  for  years  of  toil. 

Grown  larger,  true,  but  we,  can  plainly  see 

The  boy  we  knew,  was  father  of  the  man  ;  - 

In  noble  independence  still  the  same  ; 

And  with  so  much  of  moral  dignity, 

He  scorns  to  use  your  servile  policy, 

And  having  breathed  pure  country  air  so  long, 

The  masks   the   world    puts   on   would    smother 

him. 

This  self-made  Horace  we  may  liken  to 
A  beautiful  and  noble  forest  tree, 
Which  has  been  left  to  grow  its  own  true  form  ; 


MADALINE.  25 


Not  pruned  to  some  conventional,  stiff  shape, 
But  full  of  its  own  native  strength  and  grace. 

And  now,  twelve  years  from  time  we  saw  him  first, 

We  leave  him  in  the  "West's  metropolis, 

A  rising  lawyer,  of  whom  people  say, 

Seeing  his  talent  and  his  manly  strength  : 

' '  This  man  may  bend  the  .bow  and  take  high  aim  ; 

The  arrow  will  not  fall  below  the  mark." 


MADALINE. 


CANTO    II. 


Around  the  great  Queen  City  of  the  West, 

On  every  side,  excepting  where  is  spread 

The  vast,  blue  waters  of  Lake  Michigan, 

Lie  pretty  towns  and  villages, — scattered  about  her 

Everywhere,  like  little  children  that  have 

Ventured  from  their  mother's  side,  and  yet 

Are  careful  that  they  keep  her  well  in  sight. 

Of  all  these  lovely  towns  not  one  can  boast 
More  charming  site  than  that  of  fair  Bellevue. 
The  land  here  lies  some  fifty  feet,  or  more, 
Above  tlie  level  of  the  lake.     Ravines. 
Deep,  picturesque,  and  beautiful, 
With  nature's  primal  wildness  on  them  still, 
Divide  such  perfect  building  sites  as  leave 


28  MADALINK. 


Small  room  for  art ;  while  all  are  set  in  groves 
Of  fine  old  forest  trees,  where  you  may  leave 
All  human  life  behind,  and  wander  there, 
Alone  with  Nature, —  and  with  Nature's  God. 

In  ample  grounds,  whose  gently  falling  slope 
Abruptly  ends  in  seven  terraces,  which  lead 
Down  to  the  waters  edge,  of  rough  hewn  stone, 
With  towers  rising  castle  -  like,  and  grand, 
Amon£,    and    against    a    background    of    dark 

O '  "  *-* 

trees, 

Stood  the  fine  country  seat  of  Judge  LeRue. 
It  looked  to  one  a  very  paradise, 
Reposing  sweetly  in  the  softened  light 
Of  this  fair  Autumn  day  of  which  I  write  ; 
'Twas  one  of  those  most  lovely,  perfect  days, 
Which  only  fair  October  e'er  can  boast ; 
A  day  for  dreams  ;  soft,  beautiful  and  bland  ; 
And  lightly  wrapped  in  haze,  all  things  asleep, 
As  though  they  swooned,  in  very  ecstacy. 


MADALINE.  29 


Royal  October !     Her  sisters  of  the  Spring, 
Sweet,  fresh  young  things,  't  would  not  be  hard  to 

love, 

Are,  nevertheless,  a  trifle  immature, 
While  those  of  Summer,  radiant,  dazzling  all, 
Do,  by  their  very  brightness,  weary  one. 
Not  so,  this  perfect  month  ;  although  arrayed 
In  the  most  tender,  gorgeous  loveliness, 
Yet,  artful  beauty  that  she  is,  has  learned 
That  greatest  beauty  is  that  half  concealed  : 
So,  over  all,  has  drawn  a  hazy  veil. 

After  a  long  day's  labor  in  the  midst 
Of  a  large  city's  turmoil,  noise  and  heat, 
What  deep  relief  comes  to  one's  weary  mind, 
When,  on  the  rushing  train,  is  left  behind, 
Not  only  all  the  city's  din,  but  more, 
Care,  locked  safe  in,  behind  the  office  door, 
And  what  pure  pleasure  feels  when  soon  he  sees 
His  home  appear  in  sight  among  the  trees, 


30 


MADALINE. 


And  hastens  with  light  heart  to  replace  care 
With  the  society  of  loved  ones  there. 

Thus  on  this  Autumn  day  did  Judge  LeRue, 
Light-hearted,  leave  the  train  to  hasten  home  ; 
With  him,  a  guest ;  a  man,  whom,  at  the  first, 
You  felt  to  be  of  nature's  noblemen  ; 
Whom  any  might  be  proud  to  call  their  friend. 
Though  still  was  young,  deep  thought  sat  on  his 

brow, 

And  in  his  countenance  you  saw  that  he 
Had  deeply  drank  of  life's  experience. 
My  reader,  look  mo're  closely  at  this  man. 
Is  there  about  him  naught. you  recognize  ? 
Yon  need  but  look  into  the  clear,  calm  eyes, 
In  which  you  see  revealed  his  nature's  depths, 
To  know  that  this  is  Horace  Hamilton. 

Their  hearts  and  thoughts  in  sweet  accord,  with  all 
The  loveliness  about  them,  these  two  men 


MADALINE. 


31 


Entered  the  spacious  grounds  of  Hendrick  Hall. 
The  overhanging  branches  formed  for  them 
A  canopy  of  crimson  and  of  gold, 
In  which  the  little  leaves  array  themselves 
As  if  for  final  triumph,  ere  they  fall. 
And  flying  down  the  winding,  gravelled  walk 
And  crying  "Papa  's  come,"  two  pretty  girls, 
The  merry  little  daughters  of  the  Judge, 
Came  to  meet  them  —  Lola  and  Estelle. 
One  clinging  to  the  hand  of  each,  they  thus  ap 
proached 

The  stately  entrance  of  this  home,  where  stood, 
Having  but  just  dismounted  from  her  horse, 
One  hand  upon  his  neck,  her  face  aglow 
And  dark  eyes  bright  with  recent  exercise, 
The  eldest  daughter,  queenly  Madaline, 
The  best  beloved  of  all.     Her  riding  dress, 
Of  cloth  of  darkest  blue,  revealed  the  grace 
And  beautiful  proportions  of  a  form 
Which  country  air  and  sports  had  perfected. 


32  MADALINE. 


This,  with  a  rich  complexion,  not  impaired 
By  being  from  exposure  slightly  browned, 
A  mouth  both  sweet  and  loving,  with  the  lips 
Bright  with  the  color  perfect  health  can  give, 
Completes  the  picture  of  the  outward  dress 
Of  the  real  self  of  Madaline  LeRue. 

She  greeted  Horace  with  a  beaming  smile, 

Full  of  the  real  pleasure  that  she  felt ; 

But  far  too  friendly  frank  to  come  from  more 

Than  loving  friendship,  that  she  might  have  given 

A  noble,  elder  brother,  dearly  loved. 

And  he  ?     Since  the  first  time  he  met  this  girl, 

Ere  she  had  blossomed  into  womanhood, 

And  whose  young  nature,  even  then,  he  felt, 

Held  all  the  elements  of  tragedv  - 

A  nature,  passionate,  yet  with  a  heart 

Almost  pathetic  in  its  tenderness  — 

Feelings  which,  by  their  fine  intensity, 

Might  give  in  sinless  world  exquisite  bliss, 


MADALINE.  »    33 


But,  in  a  world  of  sin  and  pain,  alas  ! 

Would  as  acutely  feel  the  pain  instead, 

Since  first  he  met,  felt  strangely  drawn  to  her, 

With  a  protecting  love,  as  if,  indeed, 

He  would  his  stronger  arms  about  her  keep, 

And    from    the    dread,    black    shadows    of    the 

world 

Direct  her  gaze  above  them,  to  the  light. 
And  this  protecting  love,  half  fatherly, 
Increasing  with  the  years,  had  now  become 
Strong,  deep  and  tender,  as  his  own  rare  soul, 
The  beautiful,  true  love  such  men  can  give. 
(The  love  one  gives,  be  sure,  will  ever  be 
Fashioned  in  the  image  of  himself, 
And  noble,  or  ignoble,  like  the  man. ) 
But  both  his  sense  of  honor  and  his  pride 
Caused  him  to  keep  the  secret  of  his  love, 
Till,  might  as  social  equal  ask  her  hand. 
And  though  that  time  had  come,  he  yet  delayed 
To  speak  of  it ;  she  still  was  very  young, 


34  MADALINE. 


And,  dreading  to  lose  all,  could  not  just  yet 
Decide  her  trusting  friendship  to  disturb. 

But  let  us  look  more  closely  at  the  life 

And  character  of  Madaline  LeRue. 

This  character  may  seem  unnatural,. 

And  was  formed,  true,  of  strong,  contrasting  traits  ; 

While,  in  the  truest  sense,  she  ever  was 

As  queenly  in  her  mind  as  in  her  form, 

She  was  as  simple-hearted  as  a  child  — 

Almost  as  wayward  and  impulsive,  too. 

She  oft  was  thoughtful,  pensive,  even  sad  ; 

Yet,  when  she  laughed,  it  was  so  genuine, 

And  came  with  such  directness  from  the  heart, 

It  made  one  merry  but  to  see  her  mirth. 

She  would  grieve  and  tremble  at  a  worm  in  pain  ; 

Yet,  in  herself,  had  great  strength  to  endure. 

She  was  sensitive,  and  wounded  easily ; 

And  yet,  with  eyes  afire  and  cheeks  aglow, 

Another's  right  could  bravely  vindicate, 


MADALINE.  35 


With  all  the  courage  of  a  heroine. 
She  had  a  high,  proud  spirit ;  yet,  she  bowed 
Humbly  and  low  her  head,  instinctively, 
When  in  the  presence  of  the  good,  or  great. 

E'en  when  a  child,  she  often  with  her  father  sat, 
To  question  him  of  life,  and  death,  and  all 
The  grave,  perplexing  problems  wisest  men 
Have  racked  their  brains,  and  all  in  vain,  to  solve. 
In  lighter  moods,  it  oft  was  her  delight 
To  climb  upon  his  knee  and  hear  him  tell 
How  Anaximines  conceived  the  stars 
Nailed  up  against  the  sky  for  ornament, 
And  others,  burning  stones,  celestial  fires, 
And  even  holes  cut  through  the  vast  blue  dome 
For  breathing  places.     And  then  he  would  tell 
How  ancient  nations  worshipped  many  gods, 
And  give  their  names,  and  tell  to  her  the  myths, 
Those  wonderful,  strange  stories  of  these  gods, — 
Which  different  minds  interpret  different  ways  ; 


36  MADALINE. 


As  moral  attributes,  or  Nature  deified, 
Or  confused  memories  of  other  times, 
According  to  the  pattern  of  themselves. 
(Thus  may,  in  anything,  a  lovely  soul 
Reflect  its  own  exquisite  loveliness, 
Investing  things  with  beauty  not  their  own  — 
As  one  sweet  writer  does  "  Old  Mother  Goose,") 

•  v 

Her  childish  mind  prepared,  it  is  not  strange 

She  had  a  taste  for  history,  and  longed 

To  read  all  these  things  for  herself,  and  thus 

But  natural,  at  nineteen  years  of  age, 

This  Madaline  possessed  a  goodly  store 

Of  knowledge  of  the  nations  of  the  earth  ;  - 

Their  rise  and  fall,  their  customs,  manners,  arts, 

From  prehistoric  down  to  modern  times. 


Seven  years  before,  when  Madaline  was  twelve 
And  Lola  was  a  babe,  her  mother  died  ; 


MADALINE.  37 


And  since  that  time  an  aunt  had  lived  with  them, 

To  talke  charge  of  their  home,  and  be  to  them 

A  second  mother  ;  and  so  she  ever  proved, 

Or  rather  that  to  Lola  and  Estelle. 

But  Madaline,  although  she  dearly  loved, 

Her  stronger  nature  could  not  satisfy  ; 

So  she  turned  to  her  father  ;  thus  it  was 

The  bond  of  love  between  them  was  so  strong. 

Thus,  too,  that  in  the  evening,  if  he  went 

To  study  or  to  work,  he  welcomed  her  — 

/ 

Indeed,  would  miss  net  if  she  did  not  come, 
As  though  he  lacked  a  holy  presence  near  ; 
So  in  the  library,  which  was  his  study,  too, 
She  spent  much  of  her  time  when  in  the  house  ; 
So  muchj  in  truth,  that  if  one  chanced  to  ask, 
"  Where's  Madaline  ? "  the  likely  answer  was, 
"She's  doubtless  in  the  study  with  her  books. "- 
And,  truly,  ne'er  could  wisdom's  votress  wish 
A  fairer  temple  where  to  minister  ; 
The  books  looked  down  on  her  like  loving  friends, 


38  MADALINE. 


From  cabinets  of  ebony  and  gold  ; 

And  pure  white  statues,  every  one  of  which 

She  had  invested  with  a  living  soul, 

Were  company  so  sweetly  still  and  calm, 

She  felt  more  peaceful  for  their  presence  there. 

A  window,  deep,  formed  one  side  of  the  room ; 

In  Summer  hung  with  airy  draperies, 

Where  one  looked  out  upon  the  lovely  lawn 

And  seeming  boundless  waters  of  the  lake. 

In  Winter,  the  great  window  and  arched  doors 

Were  draped  with  heavy  damask,  crimson  lined, 

And  a  bright  and  ruddy  fire  in  the  grate 

Poured  wealth  of  light  and  splendor  over  all ; 

And  over  Madaline,  who  sat  intent, 

With  just  a  slight  contraction  on  her  brow, 

Upon  some  heavy  book,  which  would  be  deemed 

More  fitting  to  her  fathers  age  than  hers  ; 

For  rarely  are  Minerva's  votaries 

Both  young  and  fair ;  and,  indeed,  Madaline 

Loved  truly  many  things  beside  her  books  : 


MADALINE.  39 


She  loved  her  father  dearly,  as  we've  said, 
Her  sisters  dearly,  and  half  motherly, 
And  all  her  friends  with  deep  devotedness. 
Even  the  animals  about  the  place 
Down  to  the  little  kittens  in  the  barn 
Attested  she  loved  them,  by  loving  her. — 
And, —  Heaven  help  you,  Horace, —  there  is  one, 
Since  la^t  you  came,  whose  step  doth  make  her 

heart 

Beat  faster,  and  a  brighter  color  steal 
Soft  o'er  her  face,  and  deepen  in  her  lips, 
And  fills  her  eyes  with  mystic  tenderness. 
Ah  !  these  are  signs  of  love  !  that  love  divine 
(Divine,  though  some  debase  it  down  to  Hell,) 
Which  raises  us  in  nature  to  the  gods  ! 
Where,  for  a  time,  we  do  partake  with  them 
Of  nectar  and  ambrosia,  heavenly  food, 
Which,  if  man  were  allowed  to  freely  eat, 
Might  make  him,  too,  a  god.     Not  so,  alas  ! 
Psyche  must  wander  long,  and  much  endure 


40  MADALINE. 


And  overcome,  before  she  can  be  thought 
Worthy  to  be  immortal  bride  of  Love. 
But  oh,  that  Psyche  ever  should  mistake 
Such  common  men  for  Cupid's  divine  self ! 
But  so  it  is  ;  we  from  our  higher  selves 
Do  ever  form  our  heroes  and  our  gods  ; 
And  when  young,  ardent  souls  awake  to  love, 
Little  matters  it  by  whom  awaked  ; 
Enveloped  in  their  own  heart's  overflow, 
They  will  one's  very  faults  as  virtues  see, 
As  surely  as  Titania,  when  her  eyes 
Were  blinded  by  the  arts  of  Oberon. 

Yet,  Madaline's  cultured  lover,  Edward  Vaughn, 

Was  one  whom  all  the  world  called  suitable  ; 

An  only  son,  whose  family  could  boast 

Their  ancestry,  their  prestige  and  their  wealth. 

He  had  been  educated  with  great  care, 

Was  a  lover  of  the  Arts,  had  travelled  much, 

On  every  subject  could  converse  with  ease, 


MADALINE.  41 


In  brief — aesthetic,  polished  and  refined  ; 

An  elegant  dilletante,  but  no  more,— 

He  had  no  high,  no  universal  grasp, 

But  rather  was  like  architecture,  where 

We  look  for  grand  effect,  but,  with  regret, 

Find  it  all  lost  in  infinite  details. 

The  cloth  of  gossamer  is  beautiful, 

And   made   of    silk ;    but   then,    you    know,    for 

wear, 

We'd  choose  a  heavier  fabric,  taking  one 
In  which  the  threads  had  been  less  finely  spun  ; 
E'en  silk,  if  drawn  too  fine,  will  lose  in  strength. 
And  Madaline  was  the  stronger  of  the  two  : 
Doubtless,  in  part,  because  her  father's  mind  — 
A  mind  that  wras  far-reaching,  broad  and  deep  — 
Had  influenced  hers  ;  and,  partly,  that  she  was 
True  child  of  nature,  and  from  nature's  breast 
Had  drawn  divine,  life-giving  nutriment. 
And  then,  again,  she  had  been  left  to  choose 
The  studies  she  preferred  ;  and,  guided  by 


42  MADALINE. 


An  instinct  sure,  had  chosen  mental  food 
The  best  adapted  to  her  growth  of  mind. 

Oh,  guardians  of  children,  have  a  care  ! 

Put  not  their  minds  in  beds  Procrustean  ! 

Like  that  most  cruel  tyrant,  who,  'tis  said, 

Had  two  beds  made  of  iron,  one  large,  one  small, 

And  all  tall  men,  who  came  within  his  reach, 

Compelled  to  lie  upon  the  smaller  couch, 

Cutting  off  their  limbs,  to  make  them  fit, 

While  on  the  larger  one,  small  men  would  put, 

And  cruelly  stretch  their  bodies  to  its  length, 

So  do  most  parents  use  their  children's  minds. 

Becoming  tyrants  through  their  ignorance. 

If  one  be  born  a  poet,  his  friends  will, 

Nine  cases  out  of  ten,  tell  him  he  is 

Weak-minded,  sentimental,  or  a  fool  — 

In  actions,  certainly,  if  not  in  words  — 

Thus  cruelly  cutting  all  his  fancies  off, 

To  make  him  fit  some  practical,  cramped  bed  ; 


MADALINE.  43 


While,  on  the  other  hand,  we  Ve  known  of  those 
Who  'd  have  their  children  great  in  Heaven's  spite, 
And  take  a  son  of  mediocre  mind, 
Who  might  make  first-rate  merchant,  or  a  smith, 
And  try  to  stretch  him  till  he  reach  the  length 
Of  some  one  learned  profession.     We  will  say 
That  they  succeed,  and  he  in  time  becomes  — 
Well,  fourth-rate  lawyer.    What  then  ?   Think  you, 
In  truth,  that  poor,  racked  thing  will  ever  be 
As  well  and  strong  as  though  they  'd  put  him  in 
A  bed  that  fitted  his  capacity  2 


MADALINE.  45 


CANTO    III. 

In  wedded  life,  if  happiness  be  found, 

A  man  must  be  superior  to  his  wife, 

In  knowledge,  not  alone,  but  depth  of  thought, 

And  capable  to  guide,  as  to  protect. 

A  woman  is,  by  nature,  womanly, 

And  leans  instinctively  upon  some  one 

She  finds  has  strength  enough  to  bear  her  up. 

And,  if  she  find  one  wise  enough  to  teach, 

Will  sit  a  loving  learner  at  his  feet, 

As  Mary  did  at  Christ's.     We  often  find 

Those  called  strong-minded,  not  so,  really. 

They  may  be  so,  in  sooth,  to  weaker  minds 

(Quality  is  by  comparison  alone) 

And  at  the  very  time,  may  charming  seem, 

Either  to  peers,  or  their  superiors. 


4:6  MADALINE. 


Weeks  have  passed  by  since  that  fair  Autumn 

day 

When  Horace  was  a  guest  at  Hendrick  Hall ; 
And  since  that  time,  alas  !  how  changed  he  feels  — 
Unlike  his  former  self,  as  that  fair  day 
Is  to  this  drear  December's  wintry  cold. 

When  to  the  city  Horace  had  returned, 
The  image  of  fair  Madaline  engraved 
Deeper  than  e'er  before  upon  his  heart, 
He  found  a  letter  there  awaiting  him, 
Apprising  him  that  ill  his  mother  was  ; 
And  he,  in  quick  alarm,  had  hastened  home 
To  find  there  was  no  hope  that  she  cbuld  live. 
Too  weak  to  often  speak,  her  eyes'  soft  light 
Yet  beamed  intelligence  and  love  on  him 
During  the  little  time  she  lingered  yet ; 
And,  night  and  day,  was  Horace  by  her  side, 
As  though  some  opportunity  might  lose, 
To  minister  to  one  so  dearly  loved. 


MADALINE.  47 


And,  when  two  weeks,  from  time  he  came,  passed 

by, 

She,  giving  this  loved  son  her  latest  smile, 
£>o  closed  her  eyes  for  ever  on  the  world. 

Soon  after  his  dear  mother's  death,  and  while 
Wearied  and  worn  with  watching  and  with  grief, 
A  letter  came  to  him,  from  Judge  LeRue, 
Telling  him  his  daughter  Madaline 
Was  now  betrothed  wife  of  Edward  Vaughn, 
And  adding  :   "I  had  sometimes  dared  to  hope 
To  your  strong  arms  I  might  entrust  my  child  ; 
But  as  young  love  goes  wheresoe'er  it  lists, 
Fathers  must  force  themselves  to  be  content." 
And  now  brave  Horace  felt  the  world  a  blank, 
With  not  one  thing  left  worth  the  living  for  ; 
And  for  a  time,  both  body  weak  and  mind, 
He  seemed  to  feel  the  stupor  of  despair. 
But  yet,  not  long,  before  his  spirit  roused, 
And  leaving  home,  which,  with  his  mother  gone, 


48 


MADALINE. 


Could  never  more  to  him  seem  home  again 
Returned  into  the  world  and  to  his  work. 
And  though  he  now  had  found  the  world  contained 
So  sad  a  thing  as  unrequited  love, 
(Truly,  far  sadder  than  is  buried  love, 
Where  yet  we  may  have  leave  to  plant  our  flowers 
And  water  them,  as  we  may  list,  with  tears,) 
No  selfish  sorrow  e'er  should  blight  his  life  — 
Albeit,  might  forever  sadden  it. 
But  life  was  not  so  long,  indeed,  that  one 
Could  not  afford  the  pains  to  live  it  well, 
E'en  though  it  were  not  crowned  with  happiness. 
And  far  as  lay  his  power,  so  should  the  world 
Be  made  the  better  for  his  having  lived. 
'  Yet,  Horace  e'er  must  feel  for  Madaline 
The  tenderness  now  grown  a  part  of  life  — 
Wife  of  another,  near  to  him,  or  far  — 
And  from  his  distance  still  watch  over  her, 
That  so,  perchance,  the  time  should  ever  come 
She  needed  him,  he  might  be  there  to  help. 


MADALINE.  49 


And  she,  the  one  who  had  umvittingly 
Thus  mixed  his  cup  of  life  with  bitterness, 
Meanwhile    was    dreaming    her    first    dream    of 

love  ; 

Yet  finding  it  a  restless  dream,  in  truth, 
As  all  dependent,  yet  aspiring  souls 
Will  find,  who  try  to  lean  on  lesser  strength, 
Thus  constantly  thrown  back  on  their  own  hearts. 
An  ivy  will,  instinctive,  seek  to  climb, 
Although  it  has  not  strength  to  rise  alone  ; 
But,  if  so  be  a  tree  or  wall  be  near 
To  lean  upon,  will  rise  to  height  of  it, 
E'en  while  it  clings  to  it  for  its  support. 
And  this  aspiring,  clinging  Madaline, 
Most  surely  was  an  ivy,  meant  to  rise 
To  lofty  height ;  and  planted  by  the  side 

Of  some  grand  castle,  or  cathedral  wall, 

i 

Would  twine  its  grace  and  beauty  over  it ; 
But  she  was  young,  and  did  not  even  know 
Her  nature's  tendencies,  or  her  own  want. 


50  MADALINE. 


Soon  after  their  betrothal,  Madaline 

And  Edward  Vaughn  were  talking  by  themselves  ; 

She,  rather,  listening  to  him  as  he 

Recounted  memories  of  various  things 

Beheld  while  travelling*  in  foreign  lands, 

Until  h:s  discourse  led  him,  finally, 

To  speak  of  modern,  then  of  ancient  Greece. 

From  the  attentive,  yet  half  dreamy  look 

With  which  she  had  been  listening  to  him, 

A  sudden  flame,  both  radiant  and  intense, 

Lighted  her  face  and  burned  in  her  dark  eyes, 

As  though  she  were  some  youthful  prophetess  ; 

And  she  exclaimed,  "  O,  Edward  !  I  could  wish 

That  I  had  lived  in  those  heroic  times, 

To  have  been  a  Theseus,  or  a  Hercules  ! 

And  might  have  fought  like  them  against  the  great, 

The  monsters  horrible,  which  preyed  on  man  ! 

And,  were  I  not  a  woman,  even  now, 

There  are  Hydra -headed  evils  which  to  fight !  " 

She  stopped,  abashed,  for  on  her  lover's  face 


MAD  ALINE.  51 


Was  a  displeased  look  she  never  saw  before, 
Which  quickly  quenched  the  enthusiastic  flame, 
(Save  only  in  her  cheeks)  and  like  some  child, 
Before  the  look  her  eyes  fell  timidly. 
And  then  her  lover  coldly  answered  her  : 
"  Such  high  flown  thoughts  are  folly,  Madaline. 
I  know  that  women  think,  if  they  were  men, 
They  soon  would  bring  the  Golden  Age  again. " 
And  then  he,  seeing  her  so  penitent, 
More  gently  said :  "I  would  not  wish  my  wife, 
Instead  of  gathering  flowers  by  the  way, 
To  be  forever  reaching  for  the  stars." 
But  Madaline  was  grieved.     She  was  a  flower 
That  could  not  bear  the  chilly  winds  of  blame  ; 
Indeed,  her  beautiful,  free  growth  owed  much 
To  the  sunbeams  of  appreciative  love, 
Which  she  had  always  in  her  father  found. 
And  she  was  deeply  grieved.    She  had  not  thought 
This   sudden  flame,   which   sprang  up   from  the 
depths 


52  MAD  ALINE. 


Without  her  bidding,  firing  all  her  soul, 
Could  be  a  thing  for  censure  ;  and  to  have 
It  come  from  one  who  loved  her,  and  to  whom 
She  was  to  look  for  guidance  all  her  life, 
Perplexed  as  well  as  disappointed  her. 

Seven  weeks  ago,  with  calm  and  happy  hearts, 

Horace  and  the  father  of  loved  Madaline 

Entered  the  spacious  grounds  of  Hendrick  Hall. 

As  Judge  LeRue  now  enters  them  alone, 

The  strange,  unwonted  pallor  on  his  face, 

Must  be  reflection  of  December's  snow  ! 

Not  so.     For  many  days,  a  heavy  cloud 

Has  threat'ningly  been  hanging,  o'er  his  mind  — 

A  dark  cloud  of  foreboding  and  suspense  — 

For  Panic  is  abroad  in  all  the  land, 

Devouring  greedily,  without  respect 

Of  person  or  of  class,  alike  the  poor 

Man's  pittance  and  the  substance  of  the  rich  ; 

And,  on  this  day,  back  to  his  lovely  home 


MAD  ALINE. 


53 


And  loved  ones  there,  returns  a  ruined  man. 
Prosperity's  sun  will  doubtless  rise  again, 
But  only  shine  for  him  on  shattered  hopes. 

Some  years  before  this  time  of  which  I  write, 

He  had  been  urged  by  many  friends,  to  act 

As  one  of  the  directors  of  a  bank. . 

He    had    long    time    been    Judge ;     was    widely 

known, 

And,  unlike  many  of  our  public  men, 
The  better  known,  the  more  was  felt  to  be 
The  soul  of  honor  and  integrity  ; 
And  he  consented,  on  the  urgent  plea 
The  people  would  have  confidence  in  him, 
And  swelled  the  assets  with  his  property, 
But  to  the  others  left  the  management ; 
And  they  seemed  men  of  honor,  every  one. 
They    might    have    been,    and    but    in  judgment 

lacked. 
It  might  have  been  nobody's  fault  at  all 


54  MADALINE. 


That  caused  men's  faces  suddenly  to  blanch, 
While  white  lips  almost  shrieked,  "The  Bank  has 
failed !  " 

« 
Her  father  had  with  strength  herculean 

Drawn  o'er  his  face  the  curtain  of  a  smile  ; 
But  Madaline's  tender  love  was  not  deceived. 
She  saw  his  pale  and  haggard  face,  alarmed, 
And  quickly  spoke  :  "  Dear  father  !  what  is  it  ? 
Something  has  happened  you,  or  you  are  ill !  " 
"  I  truly  am  not  well,"  he  but  replied, 
"And  I  need  rest  and  quiet.     I  will  go 
Now  to  my  room,  until  the  dinner -hour." 
And  Madaline  kissed  him  tenderly  and  urged : 
"Can  I  do  nothing  for  you,  father,  dear  ?  " 
To  which  he  answered,  as  he  turned  away  : 
"•Nothing  at  all.     I  wish  to  be  alone." 

When  Judge  LeRue  his  daughter  left,  she  felt 
The  great  oppression  of  some  coming  ill ; 


MADAUNE. 


oo 


But  she  must  dress  for  some  expected  guests, 
And  had  no  time  to  entertain  sad  thoughts. 


One,  seeing  Madaline  first  time,  this  night, 
Her  toilet  so  complete  in  everything  — 
From  silver  comb  in  her  dark  hair,  worn  high, 
To  pretty  slipper  —  all,  so  suiting  her, 
Might  well    have   thought  she   had   herself  sur 
passed. 

But  Madaline's  own  rare,  instinctive  taste 
Prompted  her,  unerringly,  to  choose 
Always  just  that  best  suited  to  herself. 
Indeed,  in  all  she  did  was  plainly  seen 
Th'  exquisite  artist-touch  ;  and  it  was  this, 
Perhaps,  as  much  as  her  rich  beauty,  which 
Made  her  everywhere  acknowledged  belle. 

The  most  of  her  guests  knew  what  she  did  not. 
Bad    news,    you   know,    has   wings,    and    swiftly 
flies  ; 


56  MAD  ALINE. 


And  she,  a  gracious  hostess,  yet,  to-night, 
Surprising,  more  than  once,  unusual  looks, 
Looks  half  triumphant  or  whole  pitiful, 
Which  quickly  roused  all  her  defensive  pride, 
Carried  herself  a  little  haughtily  ; 
But  they  left  early,  and,  with  deep  relief 
It  was  that  Madaline  saw  the  last  depart ; 
And  then  she  stood  in  the  large  rooms  alone, 
Longing  to  seek  her  father,  and  to  know 
What  trouble  dire  was  preying  on  his  mind, 
Which  he  refused  to  let  her  share  with  him. 
She  knew  the  mysterious  glances  she  had  seen 
Must  somehow  have  connection  with  his  grief, 
And  her  suspense  was  growing  terrible. 
For  an  hour  or  more,  like  some  caged  animal, 
She  paced  the  lengthy  parlors  up  and  down, 
All  silence,  save  the  rhythmic  sound  with  which 
Her  soft  dress  swept  the  richly-covered  floors  ; 
Then,  suddenly  she  raised  her  head,  and  went 
Straight  to  her  father's  room,  and  gently  tapped, 


MADALINE.  57 


And,  in  a  pleading  voice  said  :   ' '  Father,  dear, 
Please  let  me  in!      Oh,  please,  do  let  me  in  ! 
This  terrible  suspense  I  can  not  bear." 
He  opened  then  the  door,  without  a  word, 
And  she  quick  threw  her  arms  about  his  neck, 
And  said  with  quivering  lips:    "You  doubt  my 
love, 

% 

To  think  I  would  not  gladly  share  your  grief, 
Whate'er  it  is. "     And  then  he  told  her  all  — 
How  even  their  home  must  be,  too,  given  up. 
He  would  not  save  it,  if  he  could  ;  but  all 
Should  go,  that  much  as  possible  might  be 
Eeturned  to  the  depositors  of  the  bank, 
Many  of  whom,  perhaps,  but  for  his  name, 
Had  never  thought  of  placing  money  there. 
It  was  not  for  himself  he  had  endured 
This  agony  of  mind.     It  was  the  thought, 
His  children  dear,  so  very  dear  to  him, 
Should  be  thus  brought  to  sudden  poverty. 
Then,  Madaline's  noble  spirit  fully  roused. 


MADALINE. 


Like  Maid  of  Saragossa  in  the  breach, 

She  stood  heroic,  without  thought  of  fear, 

And  faced  the  foe.     The  brightness  to  her  eyes, 

And  color  to  her  cheeks,  had  all  returned. 

Her  voice   was  firm,    though    tender,   when   she 

said : 

"Dear  father,  many  years  ago  you  said 
My  f&ul  was  yet  an  undeveloped  thing, 
Like  baby  robin,  little  else  than  mouth, 
Wide  open  always,  craving  for  more  food. 
And  then  you  smiled  down  in  my  face  and  said, 
With  such  an  appetite  and  proper  food, 
I  ought,  in  time,  to  grow  a  goodly  bird  - 
A  bird  with  strong  and  well  -  developed  wings. 
I  truly  feel  full-fledged  and  strong,  to-night ; 
And  so,  my  father,  dear,  you  must  not  grieve. 
I  'm  very  sure  that  I  can  learn  to  work  ; 
I  e'en  could  suffer  all,  for  your  dear  sake, 
And  in  that  sufiering  rejoice  ! "    And  with  these 

words 


MADALINE.  59 


She  knelt  beside  the  chair  in  which  he  sat, 
And  taking  up  his  hand  in  both  of  hers, 
She  pressed  it  to  her  lips.     With  filling  eyes, 
In  turn  he  placed  the  hand  upon  her  head, 
And  murmured  low  :  uGod  bless  you,  Madaline. ' 


MAD  ALINE.  61 


CANTO   IV. 

As  in  the  Summer  all  the  trees  are  fair 

When  covered  by  the  graces  of  their  leaves, 

And  we  do  not  their  real  outlines  see, 

But,  when  their  foliage  falls,  and  bare  they  stand, 

Their  forms  sharp  -  drawn  against  the  wintry  sky, 

We  find  some  still  are  fair,  but  many  more 

Unshapely  and  with  large  excrescences, 

So  't  is  with  men.     In  their  prosperity, 

The  graces  of  conventional  life  may  hide 

Most  grave  defects,  or  characters  deformed,         * 

Which  we  espy  but  when  misfortune  comes 

And  leaves  their  real  selves  in  bold  relief. 

Had  not  misfortune  come  to  Madaline, 

The  nearest  ne'er  had  known  her  character, 

How  fair  it  stood  against  adversity, 


62  MADALINE. 


In  delicate,  yet  firm,  clear  tracery. 

Some  may  complain  she 's  lost  her  gentleness, 

And  has  grown  cold  and  proud  ;   but  you  must 

know, 

In  Winter  branches  grow  less  pliable  ; 
For,  't  is  the  law  of  nature,  when  the  frosts 
That  blight  and  winds  that  chill  have  come,  the  sap 
Of  all  the  plants  will  hasten  to  the  roots, 
And  more  unfeeling  leave  the  exposed  parts, 
Lest  blighting  frost  and  chilling  wind  should  kill. 

Far  from  the  city's  heart,  and  where,  indeed. 
The  houses  seem  but  hanging  by  her  skirts, 
Behold  a  row  of  small  white  cottages, 

O 

With  dreary  stretch  of  prairie  land  beyond. 
We  will  invoke  the  aid  of  fairy's  wand, 
And,  thus  invisible,  will  enter  here 
The  new  and  humble  home  of  the  LeRues. 
How  bright  and  cheerful !     What  sweet,  homelike 
air! 


MADALINE.  63 


One  well  might  fall  in  love  with  cottage  life. 

A  glowing  fire  burns  upon  the  hearth, 

For,    though    the    Summer's    reign    is    scarcely 

o'er, 

E'en  now  the  Winter's  breath  is  sometimes  felt, 
As  now  and  then  he  turns  his  face  our  way. 
The  fire's  glow  lights  up  the  pretty  room, 
Pretty  and  bright  as  any  one  could  wish, 
Though,  save  the  fine  piano  and  guitar, 
There  's  not  a  thing  but  of  the  simplest  kind. 
But  Madaline's  taste  has  made  all  beautiful. 

But  through  that  open  door,  who  is  't  that  lies 
So  prone  and  motionless  upon  his  bed  ? 
Oh,  can  it  be  that  this  is  Judge  LeRue  ? 
Why  should,  while  useless  vessels  sail  the  main, 
This  noble  craft  lie  wrecked  upon  the  shore  ? 
Some  one  bends  over  him  and  smooths  his  hair, 
Adjusts  the  snowy  pillows  for  his  head, 
Draws  up  the  counterpane,  lest  he  be  cold, 


Q4:  MAD  A  LINE. 


With  tender,  loving  touch.     But  now  she  turns. 
My  God  !  and  can  this  be  the  Madaline 
We  knew,  less,  somewhat,  than  a  year  ago  ? 
Ten  years  should  not  have  made  such  change  as 

this, 

So  sink  the  eyes,  and  pale  the  cheeks,  and  leave 
That  tired,  care-worn  look  upon  her  face  ! 
Dear  Madaline  !     Who  'd  know    you   now  —  so 

changed  — 

With  half  the  luster  of  your  eyes  washed  out 
By  frequent  tears  ?  and  who  will  love  you  now  ? 
The  little  girls,  now  sitting  on  the  floor 
And  dressing  up  their  dolls  to  take  them  out, 
Are  much  the  same  as  when  you  saw  them  first  — 
Too  young  to  feel  the  blow,  or  know  the  care, 
That  changed  their  father  and  their  sister  thus, 
The  roses  on  their  cheeks  are  near  as  fresh 
As  when  you  saw  them  in  their  lovely  home. 
They,  doubtless,   are   as  happy,   though  they  Ve 

learned, 


MADALINE. 


65 


Since  the  illness  of  their  father,  to  speak  low 
And  to  move  quietly  about  the  house. 

But  where  was  Madaline's  lover  all  this  while  ? 

He  was  away  when  first  he  heard  their  loss, 

But  hastened  back  to  urge  on  Madaline 

His  name  and  home  ;  and,  too,  he  would  be  glad 

To  help  her  father  in  all  ways  he  could ; 

Or  both  he  and  the  girls  could  live  with  them  - 

With  just  a  slight  reluctance  in  his  tone, 

Which,  Madaline,  grown  doubly  sensitive, 

Resented  quickly  in  her  heart,  and  said 

She  knew  her  father  ne'er  could  be  obliged 

To  any  living  man  for  daily  bread  ; 

And  she,  his  daughter,  could  not  leave  him  yet. 

So  Edward  Vaughn  was  forced  to  be  content, 

Although  displeased  to  see  his  future  bride 

Descend  to  humble  life,  refusing  still, 

Gently,  yet  firmly,  all  his  proifered  aid. 

They  would  need  little,  she  had  said  to  him  ; 


_ 


MADALINE. 


Would  want  but  comfort,  and  not  luxury, 
And  surely  from  no  one  they  needed  help. 
But  as  time  passed,  he  one  day  learned  that  she, 
In  music,  for  some  time,  had  lessons  given, 
Which  a-ngered  him  :  and  when  he  went  again 
To  visit  her  he  had  upbraided  much. 
Saying  that  if  she  cared  not  for  herself, 
That,  as  his  promised  wife,  might  think  of  him. 
He  would  not  ha,ve  her  turn  a  servant  quite, 
To  gratify  some  strange,  Quixotic  whims  ! 
Through  sorrow,  Madaline  was  growing  proud. 
She  drew  herself  up  haughtily,  and  took 
From  oft'  her  finger  the  engagement  ring, 
And  handing  it  to  him,  said,  "You  are  free." 

Had  Madeline  ever  truly  loved'  this  man, 
That  she  could  break  this  tie  so  easily  ? 
No  ;  I  deem  not ;  for  here  you  can  but  see 
Her  pride  was  stronger  than  the  love  she  bore, 
And  Madaline's  real  love  was  strong  as  life 


MADALINE. 


67 


And  deep  as  worship  is.     She  'd  older  grown 

And  keener  sighted  since  the  time  when  she 

Had  promised  to  be  the  bride  of  Edward  Vaughn. 

Against  her  will,  almost  unconsciously, 

She  oft  contrasted  Horace  with  this  man, 

Which  made  the  latter  seem  but  frivolous. 

But  she  was  shocked  and   frightened   when   she 


That  she  was  growing  thus  indifferent, 
And  tried  to  force  herself  to  greater  love 
By  magnifying  all  his  virtues  large. 

He,  on  his  side,  not  understanding  her, 
Yet  could  not  help,  in  some  degree,  to  feel 
Her  nature's  depth  and  rarity,  and  loved 
Her  well  as  he  could  love,  perhaps  ;  although 
Love  to  this  man  was  infinitely  less 
Than  love  to  Madaline.     And  so  it  was 
That  when  she  gave  to  him  the  glittering  ring, 
He  loved  her  yet  too  well  to  give  her  up  ; 


G8 


MADALINE. 


And,  speaking  to  her  gently,  pressed  a  kiss 
Upon  her  forehead  white,  then  on  her  lips, 
And  slipped  the  ring  again  upon  her  hand. 

And  not  long  after  this,  there  came  a  day 

When  Judge  LeRue  was  brought,  insensible, 

Back  to  his  little  home  and  Madaline. 

It  was  an  apoplectic  stroke,  they  said  ', 

And  for  two  days  and  nights,  with  breaking  heart, 

Madaline  hung  over  him  ;  and  then 

He  roused,  somewhat,  from  his  unconscious  state, 

But  never  was  what  he  had  been,  again  — 

In  mind  and  bodya  but  a  feeble  child. 

And  where,  the  while,  is  Horace  Hamilton  ? 
Is  Madeline's  sorrow  added  to  his  grief  1 
Yes.     He  had  returned  in  time  to  see 
His  loved  friends  brought  to  sudden  poverty 
And  give  to  them  his  noble  sympathy. 
No  one  but  him,  indeed,  did  Judge  LeRue 


MADALINE.  69 


E'er  truly  welcome  to  his  humble  home  ; 

And,  by  no  one  but  him  would  Madaline, 

Now  proudly  sensitive,  e'er  be  advised  ; 

And  knowing  that  his  presence  comfort  brought, 

He  made  his  visits  frequent,  it  is  true, 

Which  Edward  Vaughn  saw  with  deep  jealousy.  • 

He  saw,  too,  Madaline  revered  this  man  ; 

And  this,  toward  Horace,  filled  his  heart  with  hate. 

Upon  the  day  that  Judge  LeRue  fell  ill, 

They  both  had  hastened  to  extend  their  aid  ; 

And  Madaline,  Edward  scarcely  noticing, 

Had,  with  white  face  and  clasped,  uplifted  hands, 

Gone  quick  to  Horace,  crying  in  pleading  voice  : 

"Oh,  Mr.  Hamilton  !  now  you  are  come, 

Can  you  not  make  my  father  well  again  ?  " 

A  childish  question,  yet  pathetic  one, 

Which  showed  how,  in  her  thought,  she  leaned  on 

him. 

And  Horace,  in  the  pitying  tenderness 
He  would  have  felt  for  e'en  dumb  animal 


70  HADALINE. 


That  in  distress  appealed  to  him  for  help, 
(And  how  much  more  must  feel  for  Madaline  ! ) 
Took  both  her  hands  in  his  without  a  word, 
And  with  dimmed  eyes  looked  on  her  tenderly. 
Then  Edward  Vaughn  stepped  forward  haughtily, 
White  with  the  jealous  anger  that  he  felt, 
And  said,  while  looking  sternly  on  them  both  : 
"You  surely  should  remember,  Madaline, 
I  am  the  one  to  do  what 's  possible  !  " 

And  yet,  this  Horace,  even  in  a  thought, 
Too  noble  was  to  e'er  wrong  Edward  Vaughn  ; 
And  if  there  was  a  living  man  to  whom 
Edward  might  his  honor  safely  trust, 
That  man  was  surely  Horace  Hamilton  ; 
But,  for  the  happiness  of  Madaline, 
It  better  was  to  visit  her  no  more. 
And  charging  her  that  should  it  ever  chance 
Her  father  should  arouse  and  ask  for  him, 
That  she  should  send  for  him  without  delay, 


MADALINE. 


He  took  his  leave  of  her,  which  proved  to  be 
The  final  sight  of  that  dear  face  for  years. 
But  yet,  for  many  weeks,  there  passed  no  day 
That  Horace  did  not  hear  of  Judge  LeRue, 
Through  the  physician  that  attended  him  ; 
And  learned,  alas  !  there  was  but  little  hope 
The  father  would  be  different  from  now, 
Though  long  in  this  same  state  might  linger  yet. 
And  how  can  words  express  the  daughter's  grief  ? 
Though  I  intrude  on  that  grief's  sanctity, 
And   tell    you   how   she  wrung  her  hands,    and 

prayed  : 

"Oh  !  anything  but  this  !  my  God  !  my  God ! 
I  can  bear  anything  —  yes,  anything  ! 
So  Thou  but  give  my  father  back  to  me  !  " 
In  vain  her  cries.     Week  after  week  passed  on, 
And  still  her  father  lay  as  at  the  first, 
And  scarcely  noticed  her,  although  she  hung 
About  his  couch  incessantly,  and  watched, 
With  lessening  hope,  for  his  recovery. 


72  MADALINE. 


She  had  cast  herself  down,  prostrate,  as  it  were, 
In  anguished  supplication  'fore  God's  throne  ; 
But  still  He  heeded  not.     What  was  her  pain 
To  Him,  who  sat  enthroned  so  high  above  ? 
And  so  she  raised  herself,  and  prayed  no  more, 
But,  with  a  bitter  feeling  at  her  heart, 
That  God  was  cruel  and  unjust,  she  rose 
And  carried  her  heavy  burden  without  help. 

Of  all  his  sorrow,  far  the  bitterest  drop 

That  Horace  drank  —  indeed,  could  ever  drink  — 

"Was  knowing  Madaline's  deep  grief,  and  he 

Deprived  of  e'en  a  brother's  privilege 

Of  giving  her  the  comfort  that  he  might. 

Truly  can  she  never  know  how  oft 

And  deep  the  yearning  was,  to  go  to  her 

As  he  might  to  a  child  that  had  been  hurt, 

And  without  help  lay  moaning  in  its  pain. 

He  felt  her  need,  but  yet  could  not  intrude. 

It  was  as  if  the  mother  of  the  child 


MADALINE.  73 


Stood  by,  and  thus  precluded  other  help, 
While  yet  the  child  moaned  on,  and  she 
Incapable,  or  careless,  to  relieve. 
And  this  it  was  more  than  all  else  combined, 
That  fretted  Horace's  strength  and  life  away, 
Till  his  physician  ordered,  so  he  wished 
To  see  another  year,  that  he  should  leave 
All  business  for  a  time,  and  go  abroad. 

A  brave  and  noble  spirit  Horace  had, 
But  strength  of  body  one  as  truly  needs, 
To  bear  a  heavy  burden  of  the  heart. 
And  nature  here  had  been  so  overtasked, 
She  could  not  rally  without  change  and  rest. 
And  putting  by  all  pride  for  her  he  loved, 
He  sought  an  interview  with  Edward  Vaughn  ; 
To  ask  was  there  no  thing  that  he  could  do 
Either  for  Judge  LeRue  or  Madaline. 
And  coldly  Edward  Vaughn  had  answered  him 
"  The  one  that  in  two  weeks  will  be  my  wife, 


MADALINE. 


Surely  needs  not  the  help  of  any  friend. " 
And  Horace  left  him  filled  with  wretchedness  ; 
Though  had  he  felt  assured  that  Madaline 

O 

Would  with  this  man  find  aught  of  happiness, 
His  own  grief  then  he  better  could  have  borne. 
But  Horace  knew  her  nature  well,  and  felt 
It  was  impossible,  and  as  he  left, 
He  groaned  in  bitterness  :  "  His  wife  so  soon  ? " 
And  hastened  to  depart,  that  he  might  be 
Not  even  in  her  country,  on  that  day ; 
But  when  upon  the  ocean's  mighty  breast, 
Where  he  seemed  but  a  little,  helpless  child, 
The  turbulence  of  grief  was  soothed  to  rest. 
Gazing  upon  the  water's  vast  expanse, 
Or  overarching  sky,  so  filled  with  worlds, 
His  soul  was  over-awed,  and  grew  resigned, 
Before  the  greatness  of  the  infinite. 
Why  pain  and  disappointment  came  to  man, 
He  could  not  tell ;  but  man's  Creator  knew  ; 
And  was  that  not  enough  ?     He  would  believe 


MADALINE.  75 


That  there  was  loving  purpose  in  our  pain, 

And  to  God's  care,  he  surely  could  entrust 

Even  his  beloved  Madaline. 

And  close  on  this  resignment  of  himself, 

A  beautiful,  deep  peace  stole  over  him. 

And  not  unhappy,  Horace  journeyed  far, 

And  many  countries  viewed,  and  in  his  mind 

Stored  various  knowledge  for  the  coming  years. 

And  when  two  years  had  passed,  and  someAvhat 

more, 

One  morning  he,  in  far  off  Switzerland, 
Reading  a  paper  sent  him  by  some  friend, 
A  poem  came  upon,  signed  :  "  Madaline. " 
That  name  beloved,  caused  him  to  quickly  read, 
And  ere  he  finished,  he  exclaimed  :  ' '  My  God  ! 
This  can  be  none  but  Madaline  LeRue, 
Rather,  that  was  —  now  wife  of  Edward  Vaughn  — 
Dear  Madaline,  Heaven  help  you  bear  your  pain, 
For    wretchedness,    alone,    prompts    words    like 

these  ! " 


76  MADALINE. 


The  poem  truly  seemed  a  mortal  groan  ; 
Its  cry  of  anguish  pierced  his  very  soul  ; 
It  was  as  though  the  suffering  of  years, 
Had  into  these  few  lines  been  all  condensed  ; 
And  from  behind  the  simple  printed  words, 
He  saw  the  intense  anguished  soul  look  forth, 
Of  her  he  had  so  dearly,  deeply  loved. 
And  through  long,  sleepless  nights  and  heavy  days, 
Her  suffering  image  ever  filled  his  heart. 
And  when  the  frosty  heralds  had  appeared, 
Announcing  icy  Winter's  fast  approach, 
He  sought  the  milder  airs  of  Italy. 
But  still  that  suffering  image  followed  him. 
And  on  from  place  to  place,  in  restlessness, 
At  length  he  came  one  dreary  eve,  to  Rome, 
As  listlessly  he  took  in  hand  the  pen 
To  place  his  name  upon  the  register 
It  quickly  dropped  ;  for  written  there,  among 
The   latest  names,  was    "Edward    Vaughn    and 
wife. " 


MAUALINE.  77 


He  felt  himself  grow  giddy  at  the  thought, 
That  she,  so  long  not  absent  from  his  mind, 
Was  near  to  him.     'Twere  joy  to  see  her  face, 
And  yet,    O,   Heaven  !    how   could  he   bear  the 

sight  ? 

Still,  it  were  better,  if  but  for  the  hope 
Of  finding  her  less  sad  than  fancy  showed. 


MADALINE.  79 


CANTO    V. 

Fully  determined,  now,  that  Madaline 
No  longer  should  refuse  to  be  his  wife, 
Edward  Vaughn,  upon  the  very  day 
That  Horace  had  his  native  country  left, 
Went  to  her  home  ;  and  too,  he  had  some  news 
To  tell  her,  which  he  thought  might  make  her 

glad. 

His  well  known  name,  and  wealth,  caused  him  to  be 
Named  for  a  seat  in  Congress  in  the  Fall ; 
And  when  he  told  her  this,  he  said  to  her  : 
"If  my  friends  work  for  me  but  as  they  should, 
Of  my  election  I  am  very  sure  ; 
And  will  this  please  you,  dearest  Madaline  ?  " 
And  in  a  listless  manner  she  replied  : 
"  What  makes  you  happy,  Edward,  will  please  me. 


80 


MADALINE. 


But  why  should  much  depend  upon  your  friends?  " 

"My  simple  Madaline,  do  you  not  know, 

From  President,  to  pettiest  officer, 

All  are  dependent  on  their  friends  ;  who  must 

Persuade  the  ignorant  their  man  is  best, 

Or  buy  the  votes  of  the  unprincipled, 

Who  on  their  glorious  right  of  suffrage  trade, 

As  any  other  merchandize  ;  their  votes 

Being  knocked  down  to  the  highest  bidder  ?  " 

In  Madaline's  voice  was  a  slight  ring  of  scorn  ; 

Her  eyes  grew  somewhat  brighter,  as  siie  said  : 

"  Then,  none  stand  on  their  merit  any  more  ? 

And  so,  to  be  successful,  virtue  must 

Be  mixed  with  baser  metal,  as  is  gold, 

Or  silver,  which  alone,  would  be  too  soft  ? 

Tis  true,  a  silver  spoon  is  easy  bruised, 

And  careless  children  leave  their  teeth  prints  on't ; 

For  wear  we'll  find  the  plated  is  the  best ! 

And  as  the  real  surely  looks  as  well ! " 

Her  lover  smiled  as  thus  he  answered  her  : 


MADALINE.  81 


"Yes,  what  you  say  is  true,  my  Madaline, 

And  that  without  the  slightest  irony. 

Of  little  use  is  virtue  unalloyed. 

Yes  ;  even  children  feel  there  's  softness  in 't, 

And  take  advantage  of  the  merely  good  ; 

And  so,  for  self -protection,  one  must  mix 

Alloy  of  shrewdness  and  of  policy, 

Or,  over  harder  precepts  of  the  world 

But  put  a  shining  plate  of  virtue  on." 

She  sighed  and  said  :   "  Oh,  Edward,  is  it  so  ? 

The  world  so  base  ?     But  life  is  short,  and  then 

It  may  be  God  will  want  to  melt  us  down 

To  mould  us  to  another  shape  ;  and  He 

Will  surely  then  reject  all  but  the  real. 

But  tell  me  not  that  all  have  petty  souls, 

With  nought  but  little  thoughts  and  smaller  aims, 

Without  one  noble  thought  or  grand  desire  ! 

Are  men  all  dead  2     Such  creatures  are  not  men  — 

With  mind  and  soul  all  narrowed  down  to  self  ?  " 

Airain  he  smiled  at  her  sreat  earnestness : 


82  MADALINE. 


*'  You  are  too  serious,  my  dear.     We  find 

No  instinct  truer  than  self-interest. 

We  're  too  enlightened  now  to  lay  great  stress 

On  abstract  principles  of  right  and  wrong. 

Our  motto  now  is,  '  Each  one  for  himself. ' 

Do  lawyers  e'er  refuse  retainer  fee 

Because  convinced  their  side  has  not  the  right  ? 

Do  ministers  preach  that  which  they  believe, 

Or  that  which  will  most  please  their  audience  ? 

And  so,  through  all  professions  and  all  trades, 

The  right  or  wrong  is  good  or  bad  to  self. 

We  take  the  world  but  as  we  find  it,  dear. 

It  would  be  worse  than  useless  for  a  man 

To  try  to  stem  the  current  of  a  stream. 

He  can,  in  wisdom,  but  float  with  the  tide. 

Would  you  have  all  Gils  Bias,  or  Don  Quixotes, 

And  come  to  grief  by  their  vagaries,  dear  I  " 

"No,"  she  replied  with  warmth;  "but  I  would 

have 
Men  dare  to  take  firm  stand  for  what  is  right. 


MADALINE. 


And  even,  if  need  be,  to  give  their  lives 

In  fighting  for  the  truth  !     I  yet  will  trust 

There  must  be  some  who  still  believe  in  them ! 

Some  yet  who  will  not  fear  to  do  the  right 

Because  the  right  is  in  minority  ! 

Oh,  brave,  young  Phreton  !  I  honor  thee, 

Who,  with  such  lofty  courage,  dared  to  drive 

The  fiery  coursers  of  the  sun  !     Than  lead 

A  life  devoted  to  base,  selfish  ends, 

I  sooner  would  be  one  would  rashly  dare 

To  drive  the  coursers  of  some  grand  reform  ! 

Albeit,  I  overestimate  my  strength, 

And  thus,  perchance,  might  set  the  world  on  fire, 

And  myself  perish  in  the  brave  attempt  ! 

It  can  not  be  all  men  have  fallen  so  low, 

In  Honor's  temple  they  have  built  a  door, 

That  they,  indeed,  may  not  the  trouble  have 

To  go  through  Virtue's  temple,  to  get  in  ! 

liong  stand  our  grand  republic  !  thus,  we  cry, 

And  gaze,  admiring,  at  the  temple  built 


84  MADALINE. 


By  godlike  men,  and  builded  well  and  strong  ; 

The  style  of  architecture  grand  and  free  ; 

Our  Pantheon  !  dedicated  by  these  men 

To  all  the  deities  of  Right  and  Truth, 

Justice  and  Liberty,  and  all  the  rest. 

Then  call  we  the  oppressed  from  every  land  : 

Come  ye,  from  all  the  nations  !     Enter,  here, 

The  sacred  temple  ;  worship,  and  find  peace  ! 

But  the  statues  of  these  deities  you  show 

Thrown  down  and  trampled  on  by  dirty  feet, 

And  mutilated  in  mere  wantonness  ! 

And  look  !  in  central  prominence,  there  is 

Whose  noble  form  we  'd  take  for  Liberty  ! 

But  that  pure  marble  breathed  but  purity  — 

And  this  is  wanton  made  by  garish  paints 

And  wide -spread,  gaudy  drapings,  and  her  name 

is  License  ! 

If  what  you  say  be  so,  base  men  are 
With  the  keystones  of  the  arches  tampering  ! 
Alas  !  alas  !  will  no  one  look  to  it 


MADALINE.  85 


Till  the  whole  structure  topples  on  our  heads  ?  " 

And  Edward,  half -contemptuous,  then  replied  : 

•  •  Madaline.  such  extreme  views  of  right 

And  wrong  will  make  you  wretched  all  your  life. 

You  peccadilloes  magnify  to  crimes." 

''  Ah,  Edward  !  there  is  where  the  danger' lies  ! 

Men  do  the  wrong  and  do  not  see  Vis  wrong. 

They  look  but  on  the  lovely  face  of  vice, 

The  beautiful  Echidna,  whose  fair  form 

Terminates  in  the  hideous,  slimy  folds 

Of  coiling  dragon.     They  will  see  nought,  alas  1 

Except  her  beauty,  till  they  feel  her  sting  !  " 

"  Madaline,    you    have    filled   your    mind    with 

thoughts 

Of  the  heroic  ages  of  the  world, 
Until  you  lose  all  sight  that  nations  are 
In  childhood,  when  they  make  so  prominent, 
Rash  deeds  of  bravery,  and  take  extreme, 
Impracticable  views.     When  they  have  grown 
To  mental  greatness,  in  short,  civilized, 


86  MADALINE. 


They  will  in  all  things  take  the  golden  mean." 
"Oh,  Edward  !  "  quickly  answered  Madaline, 
"The  golden  mean  oft  means  but  selfish  ease  ! 
When  nations  reach  the  height  of  which  you  speak, 
Too  oft,  alas  !  their  strength  is  wholly  gone  ; 
They  grow  corrupt  and  die,  as  Greece,  or  Rome  ! 
It  should  not  be  —  I  think  it  would  not  be  — 
If,  on  their  beings'  high  Olympus,  there 
Were  kept  a  place  still  sacred  to  the  gods, 
For 't  is  their  moral  strength  makes  nations  great ; 
But  soul  is  left  deserted  for  the  mind" 

In  her  excitement,  Madaline  had  risen, 

And  she  had  paced  the  floor  the  while  she  spoke  ,• 

Her  eyes  as  bright  as  old,  and  cheek,  and  lip, 

With  vivid  hectic  flush  burned  bright  and  warm. 

Her  lover  was  rejoiced  to  see  the  change 

Which  made  her  look  her  former  self  again, 

And  tried  to  draw  her  to  a  close  embrace  ; 

But  she  shrank  back,  as  though  afraid,  and  chilled  ; 


MADALINE.  87 


It  was  his  right,  she  knew  ;  and  yet,  and  yet, 
Her  heart  had  grown  so  cold  !  oh,  if  he  had, 
But  once,  this  night,  expressed  one  lofty  thought, 
Or  grand  or  noble  feeling,  then  her  heart 
Might  have  warmed  toward  him !      She  longed, 

for  some 

Strong  spirit's  help  in  this  her  time  of  need, 
But  here,  she  found  no  strength  that  satisfied. 
Her  lover  frowned,  as  thus  she  shrank  from  him 
And  said  :   "  O,  Edward  !  let  me  go  !  1  fear  — 
I  think  —  my  father  may  be  wanting  me  !  " 
With  one  caress  he  let  her  go  from  him ; 
And  when  she  came  again,  her  step  was  slow, 
The  sparkle  on  her  face  already  gone,. 
And  but  the  listless,  tired  look  again. 
Her  lover  took  both  her  cold  hands  and  said  : 
"My  Madaline,  how  pale  and  tired  you  are  ! 
Our  wedding  you  no  longer  shall  put  off, 
They  say  your  father  may  live  thus  for  years, 
And  this  great  care  is  surely  killing  you  ! 


88 


MADALINE. 


Your  father  can  be  with  you,  same  as  now, 
But  we  will  have  a  nurse,  and  you  shall  rest." 
Thus  did  he  urge,  and  gently  stroked  her  hair, 
As  she,  with  head  bowed  down,  before  him  stood  ; 
And  then  she  raised  her  suffering  face  to  his  ; 
"O,  Edward  !  urge  no  more,  it  can  not  be  ! 
Xot  yet  !  not  yet !     Oh,  give  me  time  !  perhaps, 
I  can  not  tell,  I  may  feel  different  ! 
I  have  growTn  hard  and  cold  ;  you  now,  would  take 
An  icy  phantom  to  your  breast,  and  which 
Would  chill  the  very  life  blood  in  your  heart !  " 
"The  risk  is  mine,  dear  Madaline,  I  know, 
With  rest,  and  one  to  care  for  you,  you  would, 
Ere  long,  become  your  former  self  again." 
"O,  leave  me,  Edward  !  "leave  me  to  my  grief! 
My  heart  is  with  my  father  while  he  lives, 
And  will  be  buried  with  him  in  his  grave  ! 
Forgive  me,  and  forget  me,  if  you  can  !  " 
Angry  that  his  persuasions  were  in  vain, 
Edward  Vaughn  stopped  not  to  weigh  his  words  ; 


MADALINE.  89 


"You  are  completely  blind  to  your  own  good  ! 

And  now,  I  wish  to  say,  and  once  for  all, 

It  shall  be  now,  or  never,  Madaline  !  " 

Perhaps  'twas  well  he  spoke  thus  hastily  ; 

For  now,  her  pride  would  help  her  bear  the  pain, 

Which  had  been  almost  torture,  as  she  thought 

She  now  was  giving  up  her  only  friend. 

And  now  that  pride  gave  momentary  strength, 

And  she,  the  second  time,  took  oif  the  ring 

And  laid  it  by  him,  saying  :   "Never,  then." 

He  turned,  without  a  word,  and  left  the  house, 

But  left  the  ring  still  shining  where  it  lay, 

Which  she,  next  day,  sealed  up  and  sent  to  him. 

And  thus  they  wakened  suddenly,  to  find, 

'Twas  but  a  dream,  no  more,  but  just  a  dream. 

By  far,  'twere  better  that  these  twTo  should  part. 
Howr  could  one  of  a  self-  indulgent  soul, 
Who  thought  the  true  philosophy  of  life 
To  bask  in  sunny  places,  whence  he  looked, 


90  MADALINE. 


Upon  the  "  struggle  for  existence,"  with, 
Perhaps,  some  interest,  but  no  sympathy,  - 
And  saw  the  weaker  perish  in  the  fight, 
With  but  the  feeling,  as  he  sunned  himself, 
"  "Tis  better  so,  the  fittest  will  survive." 
How  were  it  possible,  for  such  as  he, 
To  know  the  deep  and  tender  heart  of  her, 
Who  felt  another's  pain  as  if  her  own,— 
Was  champion  of  all  she  fancied  wronged,  — 
And  who,  with  instinct  of  self-sacrifice, 
Had  gloried  in  a  martyr's  suffering, 
For  aught  sublime  enough  for  which  to  die  ? 


MADALINE.  91 


CANTO    VI. 

Our  public  schools  !  the  nation's  pride,  and  hope  ! 
Success  of  which,  our  land  has  cause  to  boast ; 
And  yet,  ye  guardians  of  the  doors,  beware  ! 
For  evils  are  enforcing  entrance  there  ! 

In  a  large  building,  built  of  dingy  brick, 
Where,  from  the  upper  windows,  you  behold 
The  lake's  blue  waters,  find  we  our  heroine  ; 
Surrounded  by  small  children,  full  three  score, 
Who  learn  from  her,  first  time  to  hold  a  pen, 
And  say  their  three  times  six  from  memory. 
And  is  this  lowly  work  ?     Not  in  true  sense  : 
No  work  so  lowly,  but  it  may  be  grand, 
By  workman  great  enough  to  make  it  so, 
And  whereso'er  she  be,  a  teacher,  may 


92  MAD  ALINE. 


Be  Heaven's  very  messenger  of  light. 

'Tis  true  that  Madaline  had  better  liked, 

Indeed,  for  this  position  had  applied, 

To  hold  Instruction's  lamp,  and  let  it  shine 

But  on  her  admired  heroes  of  the  Past,  - 

The  heroes  great  of  ancient  Greece  and  Rome  — 

For  which  she  felt  most  truly  qualified  ; 

But,  without  friends  at  court,  this  could  not  be, 

And  to  this  humbler  place  she  was  assigned  ; 

But  as  it  was  her  nature  to  do  well 

Whate'er  she  undertook  to  do  at  all, 

She  was  surprised  to  find,  as  time  went  by, 

How  great  became  her  interest  in  her  work. 

While  all  the  children  loved  her  and  she  them. 

Yet  constantly  this  interest  was  chilled, 

And,  that  it  did  not  die,  were  marvellous. 

The  Principal  she  found  both  large  and  tall, 

Which  probably  sufficient  reason  was 

For  his  assuming  a  superior  air, 

For  he  inferior  was  in  intellect 


MADALINE. 


To  more  than  half  of  his  subordinates, 
Of  whom  the  number  equalled  full  a  score, 
And  over  whom,  than  this  man  exercised, 
Never  was  there  more  despotic  rule1. 
To  cause  our  free  America  to  blush  ; 
They  were  the  slaves,  and  he  the  overseer, 
Who  gloried  to  find  cause,  however  small, 
To  bring  the  heavy  lash  down  on  their  backs  ; 
And  that,  no  more  from  caring  for  their  work 
Than  pleasure  felt  in  showing  them  his  power  ; 
Though,  truly,  for  their  work  he  also  cared, 
For,  from  their  work,  it  was,  he  took  his  praise. 

Casting  responsibility  on  them, 
He  had  the  time  to  go  from  room  to  room, 
To  criticise  their  work  with  frown,  or  sneer, 
Or  oft  stand  at  their  doors,  Avith  scowling  glance, 
Like  some  ferocious,  watchful  Cerberus, 
To   whom,    most   there   had  learned   to   throw   a 
cake 


94  MADALINE. 


Of  seeming  deference,  or  flattery  ; 

But  Madaline,  poor  thing,  had  thought  that  she, 

By  doing  right  because  of  right,  would  thus 

Escape  this  dreaded  being's  bark  and  bite  ! 

So,  with  a  feverish  haste,  these  teachers  worked, 

And  many,  really,  with  no  higher  aim 

Than  please  this  man  they  did  not  dare  oifend, 

For  their  positions,  to  most  there,  meant  bread, 

And  he  the  power  had,  by  but  a  word, 

To  turn  them,  any  time,  into  the  street. 

And  thus  they  worked  incessant — and  for  what? 

To  teach  these  children  to  lead  noble  lives,  - 

To  be  upright  and  just  and  true,  as  well 

As  learn  to  write,  to  "  cipher  "  and  to  spell  ? 

In  truth,  not  so  ;  these  teachers  were  employed 

To  cram  the  youthful  mind  with  mental  food, 

As  some  do  fatten  turkeys,  or  their  ducks, 

As  if,  indeed,  in  feeding  these  young  minds, 

No  different  process  could  be  requisite  ! 

Mistake  most  fajal  !     Any  gardener 


MADALINE.  95 


Might  tell  .  you  that  a  plant,   whose  growth   is 

forced, 

Will  never  have  the  strength,  or  life,  of  those 
Which  have  been  given  a  longer  time  to  grow. 
Instead  of  this  fictitious,  hot-house  growth, 
Give  children  time  to  grow,  as  nature  does  ; 
And  give  them  moral  sunshine  and  fresh  air  ; 
For,  if  we  hope  for  tender,  juicy  fruit, 
We  must  not  starve  the  soul  to  make  the  mind, 
And  teach  youth  that  the  end  and  aim  of  life 
Is  but  to  rival  their  associates 
In  their  attainments  intellectual ! 
Look  to  it,  parents,  ere  it  be  too  late  ; 
For  this  mode,  if  pursued  in  training  them, 
May  prove  their  country's  ruin  and  their  own. 
The  world  will  grow  but  a  monstrosity, 
The  heart's  life  being  sapped  to  make  the  head. 
Too  large  a  head  oft  indicates  disease ; 
And  have  we  not,  already,  cause  to  fear 
The  world's  head  of  to  -  day  is  ricketty  ? 


96 


MADALINE. 


Alas  !  how  often  do  some  think  that  they 

Behold  in  others  real  faults,  which  prove 

To  be  but  the  reflection  of  their  own  ! 

It  is  accounted  true  if  any  one 

Has  any  special  vice,  he  is  the  first 

To  accuse  some  other  of  the  very  same, 

Like  that  poor  man  who  had  been  drinking  much, 

And,  when  was  reeling  homeward,  loudly  cried, 

' '  Why,  every  man  I  meet  is  surely  drunk  ! " 

And  really  thought  that  it  was  so,  poor  man. 

Ah,  well !  perhaps  this   is  but  natural ; 

We  truly  are  too  close  to  see  ourselves  ; 

And  when  we  ride  upon  a  railroad  train, 

The  outside  objects  move,  not  surely  we  ! 

Madaline  had  been  three  months  in  school, 
When,  on  a  day,  a  woman,  poorly  clad, 
Came  with  her  boy  who  had  suspended  been 
For  absence,  from  the  room  of  Madaline. 
But,  as  the  week  was  drawing  to  a  close, 


MADALINE.  97 


The  Principal  would  not  restore  the  boy, 
But,  on  the  following  week,  told  him  to  come. 
And  then  to  Madaline  the  woman  went, 
And,  as  she  wiped  her  eyes  upon  her  shawl, 
Would  Miss  'LeRue  please  let  him  have  his  seat 
Only  till  noon  ?  she  then  could  be  at  home. 
And  Madaline,  quickly  sorry  for  the  poor, 
And  with  no  thought  of  possible  offense, 
Consented  willingly  ;  but,  before  long 
The  Principal  came  in,  espied  the  boy, 
And,  growing  white  with  anger,  caught  at  him 
And  by  the  collar  pushed  him  to  the  door. 
Poor  Madaline  endeavored  to  explain  : 
The  boy  could  not  be  blamed.     If  fault  there  was, 
It  only  was  her  own.     Had  she  but  thought 
He  could  dis'prove,  it  never  had  been  clone. 
"You  only  thought,'"  he  said  with  wrathful  sneer, 
"That  you,  indeed,  Avould  be  the  Principal  !" 
His  rudeness,  misconception  and  his  sneer 
Shocked,  grieved  and  made  her  angry  all  at  once. 


98  MADALINE. 


The  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes,  dear  little  things, 
As  'twere  to  comfort  her  ;  she  forced  them  back  ; 
She  could  accept  no  comfort  now,  she  had  not  time, 
For  sixty  pairs  of  eyes  were  on  her  face, 
Her  work  was  waiting,  she  must  take  it  up  ; 
And  with  one  quick,  convulsive  clasp  of  hands, 
One  moment's  profound  silence,  as  she  thought : 
"  My  God  !  how  can  this  man  mistake  me  thus  !  " 
Resumed  her  work  as  if  naught  had  occurred. 

There  came  another  day,  when  Madaline 
Was  rudely  summoned  to  the  Presence,  where 
She  found  the  Principal  in  wrathful  mood. 
Why  had  she  put  that  boy  in  lower  class  ? 
His  mother  was  displeased  ;  why  was  it  done  ? 
And  Madaline  acquainted  him  with  all ; 
How  she  had,  in  the  branches  that  she  taught, 
Most  carefully  examined  all  her  room, 
According  to  their  standing,  seating  them  ; 
This  certain  boy  stood  low  in  scholarship, 


MADALINE-  99 


And  for  this  reason  was  he  graded  low  ; 
She  could  not,  surely,  have  done  otherwise  ! 
He,  with  his  customary  sneer,  replied  : 
"Had  you  the  least  discretion  in  the  world, 
You  ne'er  had  lowered  this  boy  from  higher  class  ! 
We  can't  afford,  in  fact,  to  have  ill-will 
Of  influential  people  like  the  Dales  ; 
You  can  restore  this  boy  to  his  old  place." 
Had  he  but  known  this  Madaline,  I  think 
He  never  would  have  spoken  thus  to  her. 
He  had  not  finished  speaking,  ere  her  eyes 
Flashed  fiercest  scorn  from  out  her  pallid  face  ; 
And  in  the  fierce  contempt  she  felt  for  him, 
He  suddenly  assumed  a  form  so  small, 
That  never  more  could  she  feel  fear,  or  dread, 
Or  any  thing,  but  this  contempt  and  scorn. 
Her  voice  with  passion  trembled  as  she  spoke  : 
"Then,  in  our  public  schools,  you  mean  to  say, 
The  rich  and  poor  shall  not  have  equal  rights  ?  " 
He,  rising,  with  a  furious  look,  replied  : 


100  MADALINE. 


' '  You  need  not  question  what  I  bid  you  do  ; 
Your  interest  you'll  find  obedience  !  " 
Her  eyes  flashed  back  defiance  as  she  said  : 
' v  I  rather,  first,  my  conscience  will  obey  ! 
Obeying  which,  shall  fear  not  God  nor  man  !  " 
He,  choked  with  wrath,  went  straightway  to  her 

room, 

Antl  placed  the  boy  again  in  higher  class, 
While,  in  his  heart,  he  vowed  he'd  crush  the  one 

Who  had  thus  boldly  dared  defy  his  power. 

\ 

Should  any  think  he  recognize  his  coat 
In  this,  the  garment  I  have  made,  of  cloth 
Woven  from  the  thread  of  truth,  I  swear, 
Why,  let  him  put  it  on  ;  'twill  keep  him  warm  ; 
And,  even  should  it  prove  a  haircloth  shift, 
As  monks  were  wont  to  use  in  penitence, 
Still,  let  him  put  it  on  ;  'tis  not  so  bad  ; 
I  might  have  left  truth's  edges  rougher  yet, 
But,  taking  pity,  I  have  felled  the  seams, 


MADALINE.  101 


And,  so  he  wear  the  garment  as  he  should, 
It  may  prove  to  his  soul  a  lasting  good. 

Pope,  surely,  was  not  wrong  when  once  he  said  : 
' '  A  little  learning  is  a  dangerous  thing  ; 
Drink  deep,  or  taste  not  the  Pierian  spring  ; 
There,  shallow  draughts  intoxicate  the  brain, 
But  drinking  largely  sobers  us  again." 
Had  this  man  drank  more  freely  from  the  spring, 
He  'd  ne'er  mista'en  himself  for  Jupiter 
And  thought  his  nod-  as  irrevocable  ; 
Nor,  jealous  lest  his  power  be  defied, 
Would,  on  the  slightest  possible  offense, 
Have  hurled  his  most  terrific  thunderbolts. 
At  least,  in  reading  truth  and  character, 
This  man  was  yet  not  past  the  alphabet, 
And  still  mistook  the  little  p's  for  q's, 
Because,  perchance,  they  were  somewhat  alike. 
Those    who    have    learned    to    read   a  language 
well, 


102 


MADALINE. 


Stop  not  to  name  the  letters  of  a  word, 
But  with  one  comprehending  glance  can  take 
The  whole  idea  of  a  sentence  in. 
And  had  this  man  read  Madaline  as  he  should, 
He   might   have    found  the   entire    thought  was 
good. 

Thus  conscious  virtue  suffers,  and  because 
Some  man  is  ignorant  and  can  not  read, 
Or,  with  intent  malicious,  reads  it  wrong. 

Thus  wretched  in  her  work  the  months  passed  by, 
While  Judge  LeRue  still  lay  in  living  death, 
But  slowly  growing  weaker  day  by  day. 
They  had  a  faithful  servant,  but  the  care 
Of  both  her  father  and  the  girls  was  hers, 
Which,  with  her  work  at  school —  God  knows  alone 
How  heavy  was  the  burden  that  she  bore  ; 
And  I  will  leave  to  Him  the  man  who  dared 
It  heavier  make  in  wanton  cruelty. 


MAD  ALINE.  103 


As  Spring  drew  nearer,  Madaline  was  missed  — 
Another  being  in  her  place  for  weeks  ; 
And  when  she  came  again,  her  face  was  seen 
As  cold  and  rigid  as  though  carved  in  stone, 
As  looking  on  Death's  face  had  turned  her  heart. 
And   those  who   have,  like  her,  seen  loved  ones 

snatched 

From  out  their  loving  grasp  forevermore, 
And  know  the  aAvful  desolation  left, 
Can  feel  for  her  ;  can  know  how  one  can  move, 
And  even  work  in  way  mechanical, 
Although  she  feel  as  truly  dead  as  he, 
Lying  in  awful  silence  of  the  tomb. 
It  seemed  so  strange  to  her  that  one  could  smile  ! 
And  with  what  petty  things  could  be  amused  ! 
Was  she  the  same  who  loved  the  birds  and  flowers  ? 
She,  now  indifferent  to  every  thing  ? 
But   she   was    turned    to    stone ;    but    do    stones 

ache  ? 
And  all  of  her  was  but  one  great,  dull  ache, 


104  MADALINE. 


Made  just  a  little  heavier  at  a  laugh, 
Or  when  the  children  said  :   "She  looks  so  cross." 
And  so  the  dreary  year  drew  to  its  close, 
While  since  her  father's  death  she  had  been  left 
Almost  in  peace.     With  her,  all  feeling  gone, 
And  all  the  righteous  anger  she  had  felt 
Drowned  in  that  overwhelming  flood  of  grief. 
Her  persecutor,  really  think  you,  then, 
Knowing  her  sorrow,  had  forgiven  her  ? 
Not  so,  indeed  !     Whatever  might  happen  her, 
He  'd  ne'er  forego,  not  he,  his  own  revenge  ! 
A  savage,  who  may  find  his  victim  dead, 
The  lifeless  body  yet  may  mutilate. 

The  morning  after  all  the  schools  were  closed 
And  all  the  children,  more  like  colts  let  loose, 
Wild  with  their  freedom,  had  with  noisy  joy 
Begun  already  their  long  holiday, 
Madaline,  when  looking  'mong  the  names 
Of  re-elected  teachers  for  her  own, 


MADALINE. 


105 


Espied  it  writ  among  the  unassigned, 
Which  meant  appointment  to  another  school. 
Though  not  expecting  this,  yet  she  was  glad. 
All  Principals  could  not  be  such  as  he 
Who  had  made  her  year's  experience  so  hard  ; 
And  thus  the  fact  brought  sense  of  real  relief. 


With  truest  wisdom  now  did  Madaline 

So  fill  the  Summer  time  with  various  work, 

Sometimes  forgot  the  keenness  of  her  grief. 

Oh,  blessed  labor  !  Lethe  spring  from  which 

We  drink,  and,  for  a  time  at  least,  forget 

Oar  own  sad  hearts  !    Who  says  thou  art  a  curse  ? 

But  two  days  now  ere  from  the  various  homes  ' 
Would  trickle  all  the  tiny  rivulets 
Which  make  the  body  vast  of  human  life 
We  call  a  school.     Oh,  teachers  !  parents,  too  ! 
Stop  you,  sometimes,  to  think  how  true  it  is, 
As  some  one  long  ago  has  said,  our  words, 


106  MADALINE. 


Our  acts,   are  pebbles   dropped  in   these    young 

minds, 

The  waves  of  influence  from  which  will  reach 
Through  all  the  future  generations  till 
They  break  upon  remotest  shores  of  time  ? 
For  good,  or  ill  —  Oh,  teachers  —  good,  or  ill  ? 

Though  but  two  days  remained  ere  all  the  schools 

Were  opened,  Madaline  had  been  as  yet 

Assigned  no  place  for  the  ensuing  year. 

Then,  to  the  one  on  whom  the  people's  choice 

Had  lately  fallen,  and  who  him  had  set 

Upon  the  height  to  overlook  the  schools, 

After  this  long  suspense,  went  Madaline. 

As  he  in  office  scarce  had  ta'en  his  seat, 

It  better  were  for  her  to  go  and  see 

The  visiting  committee  of  her  school. 

A  man  appointed  because  just  and  good, 

Of  the  merits  of  her  case  he  best  could  judge. 

(Doubtless  he  could  ;  for  once  a  year  he  came 


MADALINE. 


107 


And  spent  two  minutes  in  each  room,  almost. 
Or,  at  the  least,  glanced  in  when  passing  by.) 
And  Madaline,  with  growing  sense  of  wrong, 
Proceeded  to  the  office  of  this  judge, 
Who  told  her  her  superior  was  displeased 
And  had,  in  truth,  informed  him  she  had  failed, 
Failed  utterly  in  teaching  ;  was,  in  truth, 
Impertinent  and  impudent,  and  by  all  means 
She  from  the  ranks  of  teachers  should  be  dropped, 
For  "discipline  must  be  maintained,"  you  know. 
Therefore,  as  he  suggested,  had  they  done. 
(Teachers  are  not  asked,  Will  they  resign  ? 
Without  one  word  of  warning,  are  picked  up 
And  dropped,  without  a  single  thought,  or  care, 
Whether  the  fall  will  break  their  hearts,  or  no, 
And  may  be  for  no  cause  save  petty  spite. 
This  is  an  easy,  if  not  manly,  way  ! ) 
Her  eyes  grew  large  with  greatness  of  surprise, 
And  Madaline  could  not  help  wondering 
If  arts  were  used,  or  greater  strength  of  will, 


108  MADALINE. 


By  her  so-called  superior,  to  make 

This  man,  without  his  knowing  it,  his  tool. 

Her  voice  intense,  but  calm,  she  answered  him  : 
"He  knows  the  reasons  he  assigns  are  false, 
And  an  investigation  I  demand  !  " 
In  seemingly  indifferent  tone,  he  said  : 
"It  would  be  useless,  quite.    This  man  stands  high 
Among  our  Principals,  and  was  by  some 
E'en  named  for  Superintendent  of  our  schools. 
We  can't  do  otherwise  than  take  his  word. " 
Her  eyes  flashed  angrily.     She  answered  him  : 
"You  give  the  veriest  criminal  better  chance. 
In  his  case,  you  would  deign  to  hear  both  sides  ! 
In  Justice's  name,  I  say  it  should  not  be 
His  word  should  weigh  mine  down,  and  that,  be 
cause 

His  higher  office  is  put  in  the  scale  ! 
'T  is  cunning,  more  than  merit,  now-a-days, 
That  helps  to  fill  our  public  offices, 


MADALINE.  109 


And  if,  perchance,  it  should  elect  a  fool, 

Must  we,  in  spite  of  reason,  call  him  wise  ? 

T  is  only  simple  justice  that  I  ask. 

Had  you  but  sent  me  to  another  school 

Where  I  could  fairly  have  been  judged,  and  then 

Had  my  work  been  condemned,  I  'd  be  content ; 

But  you  admit  no  evidence,  save  that 

Of  him  who  vowed  he  'd  be  revenged  on  me  !  " 

He  sat  unmoved,  and  Madaline  said  on  more. 
What  was  her  right  she  would  not  stoop  to  beg  , 
But,  taking  up  her  heavy  wrong,  she  rose 
And  with  firm  step  passed  out  into  the  street. 

"  Ah,  well !  "  she  murmured,  as  she  left  his  door, 
"God  help  the  Right,  when  good  men  thus  can 

stand 
And  tamely  put  their  necks  in  yoke  with  wrong  !  " 


MADALINE. 


Ill 


CANTO    VII. 


The  Autumn  wind  is  sighing  mournfully 
As  dying  leaves  fall  one  by  one  to  earth. 
Some  trees  already  stand  all  bare  and  still  — 
Silent  and  still,  save  when  some  gust  of  wind, 
Convulsive  shudders  through  their  branches  send, 
As  though,  indeed,  they  were  convulsed  with  grief 
As  memory  turned  their  thoughts  to  Summer  time, 
When  they  were  happy  all  the  livelong  day 
In  watching  the  sweet  frolics  of  their  leaves, 
And  listening  to  their  voices,  soft  and  low, — 
Now  left  in  sorrow  to  bend  over  them 
And  drop  their  icy  tears  upon  their  graves. 

From  the  windows  of  her  room,  our  Madaline 
Is  sadly  gazing  on  the  dreary  scene. 


MAD  ALINE. 


In  humble  dwelling,  old  and  weather  -  stained, 

A  stately  residence  on  either  side, 

And  just  across  the  way  the  towers  and  spires, 

Rising  from  a  fashionable  church, 

All  looking  down  upon  it  in  contempt, 

Is  nowT  the  home  of  Madaline  and  hers. 

Of  three  small  rooms  upon  the  upper  floor, 

This  little  home  consists  ;  but,  happily, 

Two  of  them  turn  their  faces  to  the  street, 

Allowing  those  within,  when  so  they  choose, 

To  watch  the  tide  of  life  that  flows  beneath. 

Poor  Madaline  has  found  it  difficult, 
Even  in  this  humble  way,  to  live 
And  find  the  golden  gifts  with  which  to  keep 
Relentless  cold  and  hunger  from  the  door. 
She  had  recourse  to  her  accomplishments, 
Her  knowledge  of  piano  and  guitar, 
But  the  musical  profession,  like  the  rest, 
Contains  so  many,  they  each  other  crowd  ; 


MAD  ALINE.  H3 


And  those  who  glean  in  fields  professional, 
To  be  successful  gleaners,  must,  perforce, 
Boldly  and  rudely  push  them  to  the  front ; 
In  other  words,  must  put  on  learned  airs, 
Impress  all  with  the  knowledge  they  possess, 
So  they  would  hope  by  them  to  be  employed. 
But  Madaline  had  studied  much  and  deep, 
And  would  have  blushed,  assuming  to  be  wise  ; 
("'T  is  but  the  wise  that  knows  himself  a  fool,") 
And,  otherwise,  she  was  too  sensitive, 
Too  proud  and  modest  her  own  praise  to  sound, 
And  less  successful  was  in  consequence. 
And  she,  too,  found  so  many  needy  ones, 
With  whom  to  share  the  little  that  she  got, 
And  carry  as  a  burden  on  her  heart ; 
Some  sick  or  dying  woman,  or  some  child 
Whose  existence  to  her  neighbors  was  unknown. 
' '  None  are  sp  blind  as  those  who  will  not  see  !  " 
But  Madaline  saw  sorrow  every  where, 
And  when  the  sight  was  more  than  she  could  bear, 


MAD  ALINE. 


And  she  would  turn  her  eyes  to  brighter  things, 
Imagination  still  would  show  to  her 
The  world's  great  host  of  heavy  -  laden  hearts, 
Till  she  in  sorrow  sighed:   "Poor  world!    poor 

Avorld  ! 

If  my  small  life  could  bring  to  you  relief, 
How  gladly  would  I  lay  it  down  for  you  !  " 

Upon  this  cold  and  drear  November  day, 

She  gazes  sadly  out  upon  the  street, 

Her  white  hands  clasped  before  her,  and  her  look 

Both  sad  and  dreamy,  as  in  revery. 

Ladies,  richly  dressed  and  daintily, 

It  is  the  morning  of  a  Sabbath  day, 

Are  passing  by  and  entering  the  church. 

At  length,  two,  dressed  more  richly  than  the  most, 

Attract  the  dreamy  look  of  Madaline  ; 

And  bitter  smile,  half  scornful,  curls  her  lip 

As  she,  thus  to  herself,  says  musingly  : 

"  Those  ladies  were,  in  happier  days,  my  guests, 


MAD  ALINE.  H5 


Well  pleased  to  be  invited  to  my  home, 
Who  now  in  rustling  silks  or  velvet  clad, 
If  with  a  friend,  will  pass  me  on  the  street, 
Feigning  they  do  not  see  me  ;  if  alone, 
May  condescend  to  give  to  me  their  white  -  gloved 
Finger  -  tips,  and  ask  me  what  I  do, 
And  where  do  I  now  live,  with  well- feigned  interest. 
And  with  what  haughtiness  I  answer  them  ! 
Alas  !  how  true,  that  suffering  makes  us  proud, 
And  not  prosperity  !     Through  suffering  one  be 
comes 

But  hard  and  bitter.     Even  .wild  crab-apples, 
Though  but  crab-apples  still,  are  much  improved 
By  sunshine  and  good  soil ;  and  so  with  men. 
T  is  easy  to  be  good  when  one  is  blest, 
While    noblest    natures,    crushed    by    work    and 

care, 

Misunderstood,  despised,  as  poor  men  are, 
Grow  proud  as  Lucifer,  and,  in  time,  perhaps, 
Become  as  bad,  and,  fiendish,  take  delight 


MAD  ALINE. 


In  giving  pain  to  others,  as  if  thus 
Would  be  revenged  for  their  own  misery. 

"And  now  the  one  who  steps  across  the  street 
With  such  a  conscious  air  of  looking  well, 
The  lady  is,  who,  that  she  might  fulfil 
Her  Christian  duties  well  (for  Mrs.  Vane, 
Who  lives  in  regal  style,  yet  visits  oft 
The  poor,)  the  trouble  took  to  call  on  me, 
And  gave  me  good  advice,  for  full  an  hour, 
Talking  of  things  she  did  not  understand, 
All  with  the  greatest  volubility. 

"  How  fluently  most  women  always  talk 
Who  have  nothing  in  the  world  to  talk  about ! 
Full  often,  without  rudeness,  one  can  not 
Put  their  small  word,  not  even  edgewise,  in  ; 
And  then  it  so  exasperates,  to  find 
That  from  the  multitude  of  words  to  which 
You  were  compelled  so  long  to  listen, 


MADALINE. 


You  can  not  glean  one  thought,  e'en  second  -  hand. 
Yet  talk  they  smoothly  and  more  prettily 
Than  might  a  person  who  possessed  a  mind, 
Who  sometimes  pauses  to  await  the  thought. 


"And  when  she  gave  me  opportunity, 
And  had  advised  me  well  to  go  to  church, 
I  doubtless  would  find  consolation  there, 
How  shocked  she  looked  when  thus  I  answered  her 
'  Churches  are  for  the  rich,  and  not  the  poor  ; 
Built  by  the  rich,  of  course  belong  to  them. 
They  may  invite  the  poor  to  come,  't  is  true, 
And  patronize  them  kindly  ;  in  fact,  treat 
Them  to  a  piece  of  piety,  as  they, 
Indeed,  might  treat  a  beggar  child  to  pie  ; 
But  surely,  no  poor,  sorrow-laden  heart 
Will  to  these  churches  for  their  comfort  go.' 
I  said  the  large  cathedrals  were  the  best, 
For  there  the  poor,  as  rich  grief-laden  hearts, 
Might  feel  when  kneeling  on  the  marble  floor, 


118 


MAJ)ALINE. 


No  presence  there,  excepting  that  of  God. 
God  pity  us  !  we  went  to  church  to  see 
The  dress  of  others,  or  to  show  our  own, 
Or,  it  might  be  for  change,  or  exercise, 
Or  hear  a  sermon  intellectual  — 
For  any  thing,  God  knew,  but  worship  him  ! 

I  talked  so  earnestly  I  frightened  her, 

And  then  she  said  to  me,  half-timidly  : 

'  I  hope,  at  least,  that  you  are  orthodox. ' 

To  which  I  answered  that  I  trusted  not, 

And  that  I  could  not,  for  my  life,  see  what 

These  churches  knew  more  than  the  ancients  did  : 

Chaos  was  still  the  father  of  all  things, 

And  Still  the  gods  did  rule  us  as  they  please, 

Not  wisely,  justly  —  simply  by  caprice. 

We  all  were  still  attended  by  the  fates, 

Who,  when  it  pleased  them,  clipped  the  thread  of 

life; 
And  grim  old  Charon  in  his  boat,  at  last 


MADALINE.  H9 


Ferried  us  all  across  death's  turbid  stream. 

How  loftily  the  woman  then  arose, 

And  closer  her  rich  mantle  round  her  drew, 

As  if  it  were  a  robe  of  righteousness 

That  might  be  sullied  by  one  found  so  vile  ! 

Yet,  in  contempt  for  her  and  her  advice, 

My  words    were    somewhat    stronger    than    my 

thought, 

And  I  my  doubts,  as  certainties,  expressed. 
For,  true,  in  every  church  are  God-like  men  ; 
And  some  rare  souls  who  stand  before  the  world, 
Among  the  world's  great  masters  may  be  placed, 
'Fore  whom  my  soul  has  bowed  in  reverence, 
And  I  have  longed  to  worship  at  their  feet, 
Till  I  remembered  then,  that  though  their  light 
Might  be  divine,  are  human  beings  still, 
And  even  might  have  faults  ;  so  I  prefer 
To  leave  them  at  such  distance  that  their  light, 
Like  that  of  the  fixed  stars,  is  all  I  see  ; 
Bat  brightest  ray  can  ne'er  reach  my  dark  soul, 


120  MADALINE. 


For  in  some  cypress  swamp,  as  't  were,  am  mired. 
On  every  side,  as  far  as  eye  can  reach, 
Nothing  but  mire.     What  do  they  reck  to  me, 
The  light  and  beauty  otherwheres  !     The  world  to 

me 

Is  mire  ;  nothing  but  mire  !  and  over  me, 
The  sad,  dark  cypress  boughs  wrail  drearily 
As  't  were  a  requiem  above  my  grave. 
My  head  has  been  bowed  down  so  long  with  grief, 
I  e'en  almost  forget  there  is  a  heaven, 
With  a  sun  and  stars."     Unhappy  Madaline  — 
Left  to  grope  blindly  in  the  dark,  alone, 
With  no  one  near  to  lead  thee  to  the  light. 

And  now,  she  from  the  window  turns  away, 
And  sighing,  says  :  "  I  'm  tired  !  very  tired  ! 
And  soon,  I  know  my  strength,  exhausted,  fails, 
And  I,  so  weary,  would  most  gladly  sleep 
The  long,  deep  sleep  of  death,  e'en  if  I  knew 
That  from  that  sleeping  I  should  never  wake. 


MADALINE.  121 


But  there,  O  Heaven,  are  Lola  and  Estelle  ! 
I  can  not  leave  them  in  the  world  alone." 
She  groans  in  anguish  at  the  very  thought. 

Go,  look  upon  Laocoon,  and  note 

His  anguish  when  the  serpent  coils  were  drawn 

So  close  he  saw  his  utmost  power  was  naught, 

And  know  the  agony  of  Madaline  — 

Such  agony  as  but  strong  souls  can  feel 

When  conquered  by  inevitable  fate. 

The  dreary  day  to  drearier  night  has  turned, 
And  Madaline  at  her  window  stands  again, 
But  in  the  deep,  thick  blackness  seeing  naught. 
Indeed,  all  sight  seems  into  sound  submerged, 
As  round  the  house  the  fierce  wind  screams  and 

howls  ; 

She,  shuddering,  turns  away.     It  truly  seems 
A  night  to  powers  of  darkness  given  o'er  ! 
What  is  the  fiercely  raging  wind,  which  shrieks 


MAD  ALINE. 


And  roars  and  shakes  the  windows  of  her  room, 
But  fiends,  from  the  infernal  region  sent 
To  mock  her  wild  despair  and  laugh,  "  Ha,  ha  ! 
Where  now  is  all  the  courage  and  the  strength 
You  bravely  boasted  but  three  years  ago  ! 
Ha,  ha  !     You  are  a  goodly  bird,  no  doubt  ! 
With  strong  and  well-developed  wings,  ha,  ha  ! 
We   soon  will  give   you  big   black    wings,   like 

ours  ! 

Demoniac  fires  shall  shine  in  those  dimmed  eyes, 
And  you  shall  laugh  again  —  oh,  yes,  you  shall  — 
A  fiendish  laugh,  like  ours.     Ha,  ha  !  ha,  ha  !  " 

The  voices  seemed  so  near  she  almost  shrieked. 
She  put  both  hands  before  her  face,  lest  she 
Should  see  the  glaring  eyes  look  in  on  her. 
But  this  soon  grew  too  horrible  to  bear  ; 
She  rose  and  made  a  light,  and  paced  the  room 
Until  the  day  appeared,  at  whose  approach 
The  phantoms  of  the  night  all  turned  and  fled  ; 


MADALINE.  123 


And  then  you  might  have  seen  this  Madaline, 

Move  slow  about  the  room,  with  face  like  death, 

But  yet  a  perfect  calmness  in  her  eyes, 

As  though  some  struggle  that  had  lasted  long, 

Was  with  decided  purpose  ended  now ; — 

And  Madaline  had  suffered  all  she  could. 

There  is  a  limit  to  our  suffering, 

And  when  we  reach  it,  we  can  feel  no  more, 

Though  sorrow  upon  sorrow  may  be  poured. 

It  is,  in  sooth,  as  if  we  set  some  cups 

Out  in  the  rain,  which  may  incessant  fall, 

And  yet  these  cups  can  hold  but  just  so  much  — 

Some  more,  some  less,  according  to  their  size. 

Madaline's  cup  was  large,  but  it  was  full ; 

And  not  until  the  sunshine  of  some  joy 

Evaporate  a  portion  of  her  grief, 

Can  she  feel  more  of  sorrow  or  of  pain. 


Let  not  the  natures  light,  who  never  felt 
A  real  sorrow  in  their  lives,  now  raise 


124  MAD  ALINE. 


Their  hands  in  holy  horror  at  this  girl  ; 

But  let  those  judge  her  who  have  depth  to  know 

The  anguish  of  despair  of  tender  hearts. 

Had  she  not  struggled  hard  for  those  she  loved  ? 

Had  she  not  done  her  work,  too,  faithfully, 

Till  cruel  men  had  shut  and  barred  her  out, 

Unmindful  if  she  perish  in  the  cold  ? 

Still,  there  was  one  thing  left  to  dare  and  do  ; 

With  her  own  hand  she  would  unlock  life's  door, 

Take  both  her  loved  ones  with  her  and  depart. 

Whither  ?     The  secret  passage  from  the  world, 

'T  is  true,  looked  dark  ;  but  it  must  lead  to  rest  — 

Oh,  yes  :  must  lead  to  rest,  she  was  so  tired  ! 

And  she  would  go  and,  buy  some  sleeping  draught, 

And  at  their  supper -time  would  mix  it  with 

Some  fragrant  tea,  in  dainty  china  cups  ; 

And  she  would  watch  her  little  sisters  drink  — 

Those  sweet  young  things  whom  she  had  loved  so 

well, 
To  save  from  harm  she  would  have  giv'n  her  life, 


MADALINE.  125 


When  life  was  sweet  and  clear  ;  and  now,  through 

love 

To  save  from  harm,  will  take  them  where  she  goes. 
Yes  ;  she  will  watch  them  till  they  fall  asleep  — 
The  deep,  deep  sleep,  from  which  they  will  not 

wake, 

And  then,  herself  will  drink  the  fatal  cup, 
And  then  —  and  then  will  leave  the  rest  to  God. 

She  plans  the  details  all  out  quietly, 

And  when  her  sisters  leave  her  for  their  school 

She  starts  in  search  of  some  life  -  taking  drug. 

Hercules,  when  from  his  flesh  he  found 

He  had  not  strength  to  tear  th'  envenomed  robe, 

Calmly  built  his  own  funereal  pile, 

And,  as  became  a  hero,  waited  death. 


126  MADALINE. 


CANTO    VIII. 

As  Madaline  is  yielding  to  despair, 
Horace,  the  while,  upon  the  spot  renowned, 
Pressed  by  so  many  feet  of  Earth's  great  men, 
Has    passed    the    drear,     dark    hour    preceding 

day, 

And  in  the  east,  a  rosy  flush  of  hope 
Heralds  the  bright  morn  of  some  great  joy. 
O  Horace  !  the  rosy  light  which  you  behold, 
May  be  the  tire  from  some  funereal  pile  ! 

O  Heart !  bow  down  again  before  thy  God, 
And  bless  Him  still  for  whatsoe'er  he  sends. 
The  sweetest  cup  of  life  is  bitter  -  sweet, 
And  if  it  shall  so  prove,  He  knows  for  thee 
The  purely  bitter  the  more  wholesome  is  ; 


MADALINE. 


Humbly  submissive,  drink  the  bitter  draught. 
He  knows  our  needs,  and  doeth  all  things  well. 

Of  all  the  myriad  hearts  that  beat  in  Rome 

Upon  the  day  that  Horace  chanced  to  read 

The  written  name  of  "  Edward  Vaughn  and  wife," 

Were  none  that  beat  more  painfully  than  his 

As,  at  the  dining  hour,  he  sat  with  look 

Intent  upon  the  door  through  which  these  two 

Now  soon  must  pass  in  entering  the  room. 

The  strong  man's  face  is  blanched  to  ghastliness. 

The  paper  rustles  in  his  trembling  hand. 

At  length  the  moment  comes.    There,  full  in  sight, 

Perfect  in  ease  and  grace,  is  Edward  Vaughn. 

Strange  !     Was  he  awake  and  sitting  there, 

Or  did  he  dream  ?     That  lady  by  the  side 

Of  Edward  Vaughn  was  surely  not  his  wife  ! 

A  handsome  lady,  elegantly  dressed, 

But  not  the  very  least  like  Madaline  ! 

Bewildered,  he  some  moments  sat,  while  they, 


128 


MADALINE. 


On  whom  his  intense,  perplexed  look  was  fixed, 
Not  seeing  him,  were  placed  so  near  that  he 
Soon  heard  a  chance  allusion  to  "  my  wife  ; " 
And  thus  the  truth  at  last  dawned  on  his  mind. 
Then,  from  his  surcharged  heart,  tumultuous, 
Returned  the  life-blood  in  a  mighty  wave, 
Which,  for  a  moment,  drowned  both  sight  and 

sense, 

And  but  confused  within  his  memory 
Will  ever  be  what  after  this  transpired. 
His  food,  his  drink,  the  very  air  he  breathed, 
His  very  being's  self,  seemed  but  to  be 
The  single  thought  that  he  had  leave  to  go 
To  Madaline,  in  some  great  sorrow's  pain. 
The  speeding  train  how  slowly  bore  him  on  ! 
Oh,  had  he  but  the  wings  to  fly  to  her  ! 
No  need  to  haste  thee,  Horace  !     She  you  love 
Will,  at  your  coming,  be  but  deaf  to  all 
The  tender  words  of  love  that  you  may  speak, 
And  blind  to  all  the  tears  that  you  may  shed. 


MADALINE.  129 


When  Madaline,  so  tired,  so  tired  of  life, 
Started  in  quest  of  what  might  soothe  to  rest, 
Ere  scarce  she  reached  the  street,  she  reeled  and 

fell. 

It  chanced  that  two  were  passing  at  the  time, 
Who  gently  raised  her  up  and  carried  her 
Back  to  the  little  home  she  had  but  left. 
And  then  two  ministering  angels  came, 
Not  as  we  picture  them,  in  white,  with  wings, 
But  in  the  dress  of  "Mercy's  Sisters"  clad, 
And  through  the  fever  which  raged  many  days, 
In  which  she  fought  the  fiends  of  that  dark  night, 
And  shrieked  for  Horace's  and  her  fathers  help, 
With  utmost  care  and  patience  tended  her. 
(Whoever  does  his  work  as  in  God's  sight, 
Will  do  that  work,  however  lowly,  well.) 

When  deep,  lethargic  sleep  stole  over  her  — 

The  state  of  rest  which  to  the  most  is  sent 

Ere  plunging  in  to  cross  death's  chilling  stream  — 


130 


MADALINE. 


The  fever  having  all  its  fuel  burned, 
And  left  her  lying  there  so  still,  and  white 
As  pale  and  lifeless  ashes  from  the  fire  — 
Haggard  and  worn  from  haste  and  want  of  rest, 
Back  from  his  long  sojourn  in  foreign  climes, 
Came  Horace  to  his  native  land  and  her. 

A  gentle  "  Sister"  met  him  at  the  door, 
And  in  deep  pity  for  this  strong  man's  pain 
When  briefly  she  of  Madaline's  illness  told, 
Gave  him  her  place  as  watcher  by  the  couch. 
With  kind  consideration  she,  the  while, 
That  she  might  not  upon  his  grief  intrude, 
Softly  about  the  room  employed  herself. 

For  long,  his   sobs  suppressed  his  strong  frame 

shook ; 

But  when  the  storminess  of  grief  was  past, 
With  humble  heart,  he  murmured  brokenly  : 
"  I  thank  Thee,  Father,  I  am  come  in  time 


MADALINE.  131 


To  look  upon  my  darling's  face  once  more. 
If  I  but  come  to  close  her  eyes  in  death, 
Teach  me  to  say  Thy  will  be  done,  O  God  !  " 

Horace,  look  up  !     Heaven  asks  of  thee  no  more. 
See  now  your  loved  one's  eyes  regarding  you, 
Filled  with  the  light  of  full  intelligence. 
Now  the  physician  enters  carefully, 
And  on  his  patient  looks  in  glad  surprise, 
Which  Horace  sees,  and  that  he  may  conceal 
His  great  emotion,  quickly  leaves  the  room. 

When  he,  who  by  a  glance  had  bid  him  hope, 
At  length  with  cheerful  face  the  sick-room  leaves, 
Horace,  with  deepest  feeling  grasps  his  hand, 
And  as  that  grasp  as  warmly  is  returned, 
He  hears  the  words  as  Heavenly  music  sweet : 
"  I  think  with  greatest  care  that  she  may  live." 

Days  came  and  went  ere  Horace  saw  her  more, 
For  Madaline,  with  lingering  step  and  slow, 


132  MAD  ALINE. 


Returned  from  brink  of  death  again  to  earth  ; 
And  long  the  flame  of  life  so  feebly  burned 
That  but  an  agitating  breath  might  quench. 

As  she  grew  stronger,  there  would  often  come 

Before  her  vision  Horace's  suffering  face, 

As  she  had  seen  it  by  her  when  she  waked. 

And  as  she  looked  about  the  room  and  saw 

The  evidence  of  tenderest  regard, 

And  with  delight  the  pleasing  fragrance  breathed 

Of  flowers,  beautiful  and  rare,  or  ate 

The  fruit  which  each  returning  day  supplied, 

And  with  her  thought  from   whence    all    came 

assured, 

A  happy  liglit  would  steal  into  her  eyes 
As  she  would  think  :  "  This  is  for  love  of  me." 
And  then  in  memory  she  lived  again 
The  olden  time  before  misfortune  came  ; 
And  looking  back,  she  thought  she  recognized 
In  Horace's  tender  looks  a  depth  beyond 


MADALINE.  133 


What  she  had  then  supposed  he  felt  for  her  ; 

Then,  to  herself,  she  musingly  would  say  : 

"  Strange,    I    could    give    my  heart    to    Edward 

Vaughn 

While  he,  the  prince  of  men,  was  standing  by  ! 
But  then  I  was  a  child  —  a  very  child. " 

Thus  had  mused  Madaline  ;  and  then  came  doubts. 
It  could  not  be  he  loved  her  all  this  while, 
E'en  were  it  true  that  he  had  loved  her  once, 
And  what  seemed  evidence  of  love  was  prompted 

by 

A  friendship  for  the  daughter  of  his  friend. 

It  could  be  nothing  more,  for  day  by  day 

She  watched  and  waited,  thinking  he  might  come  ; 

But  he  came  not.     Had  it  been  love  he  felt, 

He  ne'er  had  stayed  away  from  her  so  long. 

And  so  the  transient  happiness  would  die, 

And  than  before  leave  her  more  lone  and  sad, 

While,  with  a  feeling  of  shy  diffidence, 


134  MADALINE. 


Through  all   her  thought    she    yet  no   question 

asked. 

Days  passed  away,  and  although  Madaline 
Had  walked  with  tottering  step  across  the  floor, 
There  to  her  weakness  came  no  farther  strength, 
And  into  tired  listlessness  she  sank. 
The  man  of  medicine  looked  grave  and  said 
Life  seemed  to  have  no  hope  on  which  to  feed  ; 
And,  seeking  Horace,  told  him  he  might  come. 
Seeing  a  friend  might  now  result  in  good. 

So,  after  dreary  waiting,  came  at  last 

The  happy  summons  to  his  loved  one's  side  ; 

And  when  at  length  he  stood  before  her  there, 

His  eyes  so  full  of  tenderness  for  her, 

Impulsively  her  whole  heart  went  to  him, 

And,  stretching  out  her  arms  as  infant  will 

When  it  looks  up  and  sees  its  mother  near, 

She  was  clasped  close  in  Horace's  strong  embrace. 


MADALINE.  135 


CANTO  IX. 

As  after  toil  our  rest  is  doubly  sweet ; 
As  freedom  from  pain  is,  after  agony  ; 
As  brighter  and  more  beautiful  the  day 
Succeeding  to  a  dark  and  dreary  night, 
So  Horace's  happiness  in  Madaline 
Is  sweeter  for  the  waiting  and  the  pain. 
His  love,  so  satisfying  and  profound, 
Compensates  for  all  sorrows  of  the  past ; 
And  he,  whate'er  the  future  brings,  can  say  : 
UI  own  my  share  of  earthly  bliss  was  large." 

And  Madaline  ?     Is  she,  too,  satisfied  ? 

She  truly  Horace  loves,  and  loves  him  well ; 

And  even  at  the  hearing  of  his  step, 

A  flush  of  joy  quick  mantles  her  fair  face. 


136  MADALINE. 


Not  wholly  happy,  though,  is  Madaline. 
Once,  love  like  this  entirely  had  sufficed  ; 
But  now  her  restless  heart  cries  out  for  more. 
Looking  beyond  earth's  brief  felicity, 
Her  poet  gaze,  directed  to  the  end, 
Is  yet  not  keen  enough  to  pierce  the  clouds 
Which  throw  their  shadows  even  on  her  love  ; 
And  she,  beyond  the  clouds,  sees  not'the  light. 
Madaline,  for  satisfying  peace, 
Must  build  her  loves  and  hopes  upon  a  rock  ; 
But  looking  round  she  can  see  nought  but  sand. 
And  thus  it  was  that  she,  ere  scarce  had  died 
The  thrill  that  Horace's  kiss  at  parting  gave, 
Would  turn  away  and  sigh.     Oh,  if  she  dared 
But  talk  with  him  !  but  then,  would  he  not  think 
She  did  not  love  him  if  she  could  be  sad  ? 
But  he  the  sadness  saw  e'en  through  her  smiles, 
And  one  day,  taking  both  her  hands  in  his, 
He  bent  on  her  a  look  of  deepest  love, 
While  thus  he  said  :  "  My  darling  Madaline, 


MAD  ALINE.  137 

Should  not  our  hearts  e'er  to  each  other  be 
As  open  book,  without  a  secret  page  ? 
Something  troubles  you,  my  Madaline." 

And  then,  without  reserve,  she  told  to  him 
How  she  had  lost  all  faith  in  church  and  creed, 
And  life  and  death  were  but  dark  mysteries, 
While  not  one  ray  of  light  pierced  the  Beyond. 
She  might  be  wholly  happy  in  his  love, 
Could  she  but  close  and  lock  the  door  of  thought ; 
But  she  could  not,  and  through  that  open  door 
She  saw  the  path  of  life  —  how  short  it  was  — 
Yet,  helpless  creatures  fainted  by  the  way  ; 
And  if  to  good  or  ill  this  path  might  lead, 
She  could  not  see,  for  at  the  end  her  view 
Obstructed  was  by  darkness  and  thick  gloom. 

Horace  looked  down  tenderly  on  her 
And  drew  her  closer  to  him  as  he  said  : 
"My  dearest  Madaline,  try  as  we  may, 


138  MADALINE. 


No  eyes  but  those  of  Faith  can  pierce  the  gloom." 

And  she  replied  :  "  But  one  may  wish,  yet  find  it  is 

Impossible  in  aught  to  have  belief. 

To  have  a  perfect  faith,  methinks  one  must 

Have  but  a  narrow  mind.     Do  not  we  all 

Now  laugh  at  even  what  the  men,  called  great 

In  by-gone  ages,  have  believed  ?     Dante"  was  great 

In  depth,  and  yet,  between  contracted  banks, 

The  deep,  strong  current  of  his  genius  ran. 

He,  without  doubt,  most  thoroughly  believed 

The  center  of  our  system  was  the  Earth, 

And  on  this  basis  placed  his  Heaven  and  Hell, 

And  thought  he  wrote  both  poetry  and  truth. 

Thus  all  philosophers,  in  ages  past, 

Building  upon  the  science  of  the  times 

In  which  they  lived,  thought  they  had  reached  the 

truth. 

Those  coming  after,  proving  Earth  is  round, 
The  stars  are  worlds,  and  our  world,  too,  a  star 
Revolving  fast  in  space,  thus  also  proved 


MAD  ALINE.  139 


Those  structures  of  philosophy  were  false, 
And  that  without  foundations,  they  were  naught 
But  unsubstantial  'castles  in  the  air.' 
And  can  we  think  our  light  so  great,  that  those 
Who  may  live  here  a  century  hence  will  not 
Prove,  too,  our  theories  ridiculous  ? 

"And  what  belief  is  there,  I  might  accept, 
Would  end  the  strife  between  my  head  and  heart  ? 
My  heart  cries  out  for  sweet,  confiding  faith 
In  something  high,  yet  personal  and  near. 
I  'm  chilled  by  Positive  Philosophy. 
Its  coldness  truly  numbs  my  very  life, 
While  still  my  reason  cries  :   '  Can  you  not  see 
The  road  is  straight  and  firm  these  great  men 

tread  — 

These  honest,  earnest  men,  as  well  as  great  ? ' 
And  it  presumptuous  seems,  for  such  as  I, 
To  doubt  conclusions  of  such  lofty  minds  — 
Men  who,  with  greatest  patience  and  broad  sight, 


140  MAD  ALINE. 


Have    spent    their    years    in    search    of    simple 

truth. 

Yet,  all  to  me  so  cold  and  dreary  seems, 
I  sooner  far  had  lived  in  olden  times, 
When  field  and  grove  and  air  were  all  alive 
With  higher  beings,  not  too  far  removed    . 
To  be  in  sympathy  with  human  life. 

"And  then,  what  say  to  those  Philosophers 
Who  tell  us  that  there  is  no  Heaven  or  Hell, 
Nor  Immortality,  nor  even  God ; 
And  tell  us  that  our  soul  is  but  our  life, 
And  life  is  only  matter,  after  all  ? 

"And  Horace,  What  is  there  left  for  those 
Who  still  believe  that  there  is  soul  and  God  ? 
For  learned  men  have  thrown  our  old  beliefs 
Down  to  the  earth,  and  so  bedraggled  them, 
Who   cares  for  cleanness    ne'er   can  wear   them 
more. 


MADALINE.  Ml 


"And  if,  O  Horace  !  if  there  is  a  God, 
Does  He  stoop  low  enough  to  note  the  pain 
His  creatures  suffer,  and  yet  give  no  help  ? " 
And  Mad  aline  sighed  as  thus  she  ceased  to  speak. 

Then  Horace,  with  his  eyes  full  of  the  light 

Which  shone  serene  on  him  above  the  clouds 

Which  cast  their  gloomy  shade  on  Madaline, 

Thus  answered  her  :  u  My  darling,  it  is  true 

That  we  may  never  have  a  perfect  faith 

In  theories  of  men ;  but,  nevertheless, 

May  have  a  perfect  trust  that  He  who  made 

The  Universe  will  never  do  us  wrong. 

Dear  Madaline,  e'en  if  we  thought  it  true 

Our  souls  must  wander  through  the  beasts  and 

birds, 

Or  even  thought  we  should  be  swallowed  up 
In  the  Universal  Intellect  at  last  - 
As  India  believed —  therefore  complain  ? 
Shall  we  grow  so  audacious  as  to  think 


142  MAD  ALINE. 


Our  erring  judgment  better  than  our  God's  ? 
If  we  believe  in  God  at  all,  we  must, 
Knowing  Him  to  be  great,  believe  Him  good, 
And  better  than  can  we,  decide  our  fate. 
The  very  keystone  of  Religion's  arch 
Is  simple  faith  '  He  doeth  all  things  well. ' 

"And,  if  men  err  in  letter  of  their  creeds, 
We  must  not  cast  away  the  truth  still  there, 
Though,  true,  we  must  look  higher  than  a  church. 
And  modern  churches  oft  have  made  mistake 
When  trying  to  point  out  the  way  to  Truth, 
By  singling  out  the  footprints  of  some  man, 
If  Calvin's,  or  another's,  chance  to  be, 
And  bidding  others  step  in  those  same  tracks, 
Which  make  too  long  a  stride  for  some  to  take, 
For  others,  may  be  short  or  indirect ; 
To  any,  awkward  walking  is,  at  least. 
None  ever  should  attempt  to  others  guide 
Until  he  first  ascend  some  eminence 


MAD  ALINE.  143 


Where  he  can  see  how  broad  the  way  to  Heaven 
How  many  footprints  point  that  self-same  way  ; 
Then,  rather,  turn  men's  faces  toward  it 
By  teaching  them  to  lead  true,  noble  lives, 
And  they  will  surely  reach  it  for  themselves, 
Whether  they  choose  to  walk  in  somber  shade, 
Or  walk,  instead,  in  higher,  sunlit  paths. 

' '  And  it  is  well  for  us  to  bear  in  mind 

Truth  may  change  form  as  oft  as  Proteus, 

And  we,  like  Hercules,  must  hold  it  fast 

Till  it  assume  the  shape  we  recognize. 

The  various  religions  of  the  world 

Have  really  been  the  truth  in  various  guise, 

Although  we  find  it  still  with  error  mixed. 

And  it  were  better  far  for  man,  indeed, 

To  make  the  earth  intelligent  with  life 

Of  genii,  nymphs  and  fairies,  than  to  make 

All  but  the  evolution  of  blind  force. 

We  say  the  Olympian  gods  were  faulty  Greeks  ; 


144  MADALINE. 


Yet,  those  who  worshiped  truly  as  they  knew, 

Were  certainly  ennobled  by  the  act. 

And  one  especial  faith,  than  other  faiths, 

Is  not  more  saving.     Surely,  the  good  are  good, 

For  all  the  difference  in  belief.     I  think 

It  so  it  be  true  gold,  God  will  not  ask 

In  what  especial  manner  purified  ; 

And  of  less  consequence  what  we  believe, 

Than  how,  upon  sincere  belief,  we  act. 

Still,  that  form  of  religion  should  each  choose, 

Which  gives  his  moral  nature  wholesome  food 

By  which  to  daily  grow  in  strength  and  size  ; 

Remembering  yet,  what  is  good  food  for  him 

May  but  rank  poison  to  another  be  ; 

And  not  find  fault  with  what  another  eats 

If  so  upon  it  that  one  well  doth  thrive. 

'  You,  my  sweet  Madaline,  are  a  flower 
That  needs  the  sunshine,  and  that  cold  will  kill ; 
And  if  as  claimed,  the  air  be  fresh  and  pure 


MADALINE.  145 


On  high  plateaus  of  Comte's  Philosophy, 
It  yet  is  cold  and  ehill ;  too  so,  my  dear, 
For  tender  poet  hearts,  like  yours,  to  bloom. 
Stay  in  the  valley,  clearest,  where  soft  clime 
Shall  ripen  all  your  nature's  sweetest  fruits. 
Those  in  the  valley,  too,  may  often  see 
Farther  than  those  upon  the  mountain  may, 
If  so  they  have  not  climbed  above  the  clouds. 
And  those  Philosophers,  dear  Madaline, 
Who  have,  by  constant  and  laborious  thought, 
'T  is   true,    climbed   far   the   mountain   side,   and 

thus 

Can  take  a  truer  view  of  that  beneath 
Than  those  enveloped  in  the  cloud  and  dust 
Of  prejudice  and  creed  may  ever  do, 
Yet,    from    their    lofty    height,    they    but    look 

down. 

Scorning  to  use  Imagination's  glass, 
Rejecting  all,  except  the  so-called  real, 
They  little  see  with  dull,  unaided  eyes. 


146  MADALINE. 


"  When  all  is  said,  my  dearest  Madaline, 

What  more  has  Modern  Science  done,  than  show 

The  Infinite  is  greater  than  we  thought  — 

To  finite  minds,  incomprehensible  ? 

Try  as  he  may,  weak  man  can  never  sound 

Infinite  depths  with  finite  sounding  -  lines  ; 

And  those  Philosophers  who  think  that  they, 

While  on  the  earth,  will  e'er  be  capable 

To  comprehend  the  ways  of  the  All  -  Wise, 

Are  much  too  rash  in  their  self-  confidence. 

The  little  flies,  imprisoned  in  a  room, 

May  fly  up  to  the  ceiling,  where  they  say  : 

'  Now  we  have  reached  the  highest  point  of  all ! ' 

And  then  we  laugh  at  them,  we  bigger  flies 

Who  can  see  all  the  boundless  out-of-door  ; 

And  so  may  the  Supreme,  or  angels,  laugh 

At  all  the  rash  self-confidence  of  those 

Who  think  they've  reached  the  limits  of  the  Truth. 

Madaline,  these  great  and  wise  Philosophers 

Remind  me  of  the  little  Concord  boy 


MAD  ALINE. 


Whom  one  saw  digging  in  the  earth,  and  asked, 

What  was  he  doing  there  ?  who  quick  replied  : 

'  Oh,  sir,  I  'm  searching  for  the  Infinite. ' 

'T  is  true  the  man,  than  child,  much  taller  is  ; 

Thus,  many  inches  nearer  to  the  moon. 

The  moon  to  each,  howe'er,  is  yet  far  ofi  ; 

And  so  I  think,  the  distance  is  so  great, 

The  little  child  by  digging  in  the  earth 

"Will  reach  the  Infinite  as  soon  as  they. 

But  yet,  Infinity  can  work  both  ways, 

And,  just  so  sure  as  God  is  great  and  far, 

May  also  be  enthroned  in  soul  of  man, 

And  can  hear,  too,  the  humblest  whispered  prayer. 

Ah  !  great  and  wise  men  !   This  is  where  they  err. 

They  have  strong  sight,  but  only  look  one  way  ; 

Thus,  are  false  teachers  to  their  fellow-men 

Who  strain  their  eyes  the  way  these  sages  point, 

And,  blinded  by  immensity  and  light, 

Leave  all  their  work  undone,  or  do  it  ill. 

They  know  full  well  that  there  is  work  to  do  — 


148  MAD  ALINE. 


And  is  not  that  enough  ?     But  they  must  try 
Boldly  to  see  the  very  Master's  self ! 
For  those  with  eyesight  strong  enough  to  look 
Straight  toward  the  Central  Truth,  like  those  rare 

men, 

True  poets  and  philosophers,  't  is  well ; 
But  they  are  very  few  who  will  not  grow 
Confused  and  reel,  perhaps  may  even  fall, 
And  so  far  lose  their  reason  as  to  say, 
Because  they  can  not  see,  '  There  is  no  God  ! ' 
Know,  poor  misguided  ones,  while  on  the  earth 
These  greatest  who  look  farthest  ne'er  will  see 
More  than  the  light  which  penetrates  the  veil 
That  hides  the  face  of  the  Unknowable. 

"Then  let  weak  man,  instead,  but  contemplate 
The  image  of  his  God,  which  he  may  see 
Reflected  in  the  lives  of  all  good  men 
Until  he  so  in  love  with  virtue  grow, 

o 

He,  too,  may  practice  it ;  that  so,  perchance, 


MADALINE.  L49 


At  close  of  life,  he  may  be  strong  enough 
To  bear  to  see  God's  very  self  and  live. 

"  Let  him,  instead  of  standing  but  to  gaze,  - 
With  eyes  uplifted,  true,  yet  standing  low  — 
Stoop  to  the  humble  work -about  his  feet. 
Lowly  deeds  of  love  are  lowly  rounds 
Of  that  great  ladder  reaching  to  the  skies. 
The  ladder-rounds  may  be  so  much  alike 
There  may  be  dreary  sameness  in  them,  true, 
And  while  intent  the  where  to  place  our  feet, 
We  may  not  realize  we  climb  at  all 
Until  we  feel  ourselves  grow  blithe  and  strong, 
Breathing  the  purer  air  which  we  have  reached. 
Ask  those  who  spend  their  lives  in  loving  acts, 
If  they  have  not,  by  self-forgetting  work, 
Climbed  to  an  atmosphere  so  pure  they  feel 
Almost  as  light  and  joyous  as  the  birds  ; 
As  one  has  felt  when  he  has  breathed  the  air 
Upon  the  mountains,  when  he(neared  the  top; 


150 


MADALINE. 


Thus,  slowly  climbing  higher,  day  by  day, 
At  length,  when  all  our  work  is  done,  we  hear 
A  voice,  which  says  :      '  Look  up  !    Behold  your 
God!' 

"  I  truly  think  it  strange,  so  many  men, 
Because  they  fancy  Modern  Science  and 
Philosophy,  have  proved  their  faiths  but  false, 
Do,  on  account  of  that,  lead  careless  lives. 
They  say,  that  if  there  is  a  God  and  Heaven, 
God  must  be  good,  and  so  He  surely  will 
Let    them,    with   others,    share   in   Heaven's   de 
lights. 

Poor,  foolish  men  !  they  do  not  stop  to  think, 
Things  that  are  dead,  to  naught  are  sensible  ! 
And  they  must  not  expect  to  pleasure  feel, 
With  moral  natures  lifeless  as  a  stone 
Through  life-long,  selfish   sinning.      Would   any 

know 
The  depths  of  happiness  which  he  may  reach. 


MADALINE.  151 


Let  him  with  pains,  and  care,  keep  well  alive 
His  tender  sensibilities  of  soul ; 
And  neither  let  them  die,  become  diseased, 
Nor,  yet,  by  their  improper  use,  be  dulled. 

"And    do    you    ask:    'What    shall    we    say    to 

those 

Who  tell  us  that  there  is  no  Heaven,  or  Hell, 
Nor  Immortality,  nor  even  God  ? ' 
We'll  simply  say  to  them,  my  Madaline, 
Science  is  a  goodly  animal, 
If  so  we  keep  him  tame  ;  but  if,  perchance, 
It  shall  run  mad,  we  will  not  calmly  stand, 
And  let  it  eat  up  both  our  souls  and  God  ! 
We  long  will  fight,  ere  it  shall  take  our  souls  ! 
Without  them,  what  are  we,  but  corpses  dead 
Drifting  on  life's  sea,  or  here,  or  there  ; 
No  aim,  no  hope,  because,  in  truth,  no  life. 
Our  poor,  white  faces  turned  up  to  the  sky, 
In  stony  stare,  with  which  we  can  see  nought. 


152  MADALINE. 


"And,  darling,  is  it  hard  to  understand, 
How  God  can  see  our  suff 'ring,  and  not  help? 
She,  doubtless,  of  the  shining  face  of  Truth, 
Had  caught  a  glimpse,   who  wrote  these  lovely 

words  : 

'  Suffering  may  be  but  joy,  misunderstood. ' 
At  least,  I  feel  assured,  dear  Madaline, 
Who  takes  pain  for  the  best,  thus  makes  it  so,— 
And  verities  :   '  Whatever  is,  is  right. ' 
No  evil  is  we  may  not  turn  to  good, 
And  with  ourselves  it  lies,  whether,  so  prove, 
Our  ills  become  our  servants,  or  we  theirs. 

"And  now,  dear  Madaline,  .of  all  that  I 

Have  tried  to  show,  this  is  the  summary  : 

Wiser,  by  far,  and  happier,  are  those 

Who  learn  to  trust  their  instincts,  Heaven-born  ; 

And  all,  a  safer  guide,  or  soon,  or  late, 

Will  find  the  intuitions  of  the  soul, 

Than  all  the  loftiest  reasoning  of  the  mind. 


MAD  ALINE.  153 


Intuition,  is  a  bird  that  flies 

Straight  to  the  point,  and  more  unerringly, 

Than  dull,  slow-footed  Reason,  e'er  can  do. 

The  latter  may,  in  time,  arrive  at  truth, 

Or,  it  may  lose  itself  entirely, 

In   labyrinthine  paths  of  sophistry." 

Raising  her  eyes,  in  which  a  new-born  hope 
Contended  with  regret,  said  Madaline  : 
"O,  Horace  !  how  have  I  wandered  in  the  dark  ! 
Had  you  but  been  beside  me  all  these  years, 
You  might  have  kept  me  by  you  in  the  light,— 
And  I,  the  light  to  others  might  have  shown. 
I  longed,  and  tried,  to  comfort  the  distressed, 
But  all  that  I  could  do  was  but  to  weep. " 
And  then  her  face  grew  radiant  as  she  said : 
"But  still,  I  will  not  grieve,  for  you  have  taught 
My  errors,  and  my  darksome  wandering, 
I  may  yet  make  my  own.  and  others',  good. 


MADALINE.  155 


CANTO    X. 

A  June  morn,  beautiful  and  softly  bright, 

Is  Madaline's  and  Horace's  marriage  morn. 

The  heaven  has  donned  its  dress  of  brightest  blue, 

And  lovely  cirrus  clouds  of  snowy  white, 

Wrought  in  fantastic  patterns,  here  and  there 

Soften,  but  do  not  hide,  the  hue  beneath  ; 

As  't  were  a  queen  who  had  arrayed  herself 

In  richest  azure  robe,  and  over  it 

Had  draped  exquisite  lace  of  rare  device. 

But  fairer  than  the  day  is  Madaline. 

Never  has  she  been  so  beautiful 

In  winning  grace  of  youth  and  health.    The  while, 

Like  halo  'round  the  moon  when  rain  is  near, 

Past  sorrow  has  around  her  beauty  left 


156  MADALINE. 


A  tender,  chastened  radiance  of  its  own. 
The  brooding  shadows  from  her  eyes  are  gone, 
And,  as  they  had,  from  Horace's,  sunshine  caught, 
There    shines    in    them    the    light    of    love   and 

hope, 

As  she,  by  Horace's  side,  her  hand  in  his, 
Listens  with  sweet  and  trustful  confidence 
To  his  strong,  tender  words,  to  cherish  her 
Through  good,  through  ill,  till  Death  should  come 

to  part. 

And  when  the  ring  upon  her  hand  was  placed, 

And  Horace  on  his  young  wife's  lips  had  pressed 

The  customary  kiss,  took  her  away 

To  visit  —  as  she  had  expressed  desire  — 

First  time  since  leaving  it,  her  childhood's  home. 

No  wedding  tour  could  her  the  pleasure  give, 

Equal  to  that  she  might  receive  from  but 

One  day  of  wandering  with  him,  among 

The  lovely  spots  she  haunted  as  a  child. 


MAD  ALINE.  157 


But  when  was  there,  and  Horace  rang  the  bell, 

Simply  to  ask  the  favor,  as  she  thought, 

To  spend  a  time  in  walking  through  the  grounds, 

Her  aunt,  who  had  her  second  mother  been. 

Whom  she  supposed  so  many  miles  away, 

Stepped  forward  to  the  door  to  welcome  her  ;  — 

And  then,  the  joyous  greeting  at  an  end, 

She,  into  Horace's  face,  with  wonder,  looked  ; 

Who,  smiling  lovingly  upon  her,  said  : 

"  Welcome,  my  darling,  to  your  future  home. 

Accept  your  bridal  gift,  my  Madaline. " 

When  passed  the  shock  of  her  surprise  and  joy, 
Horace  led  her  through  the  well-known  house, 
Showed  her  the  rooms  of  Lola  and  Estelle, 
Who  would  come  on  the  morrow  from  their  school, 
Where  they  had  been  since  Horace  placed  them 

there 

During  the  time  that  Madaline  was  ill. 
And  then  they  spent  the  hours  in  wandering 


158  MADALINE. 


Through  lovely  dells  and  shady  woodland  paths, 

More  joyous  than  the  birds  which  sang  for  them. 

And  as  the  day  was  drawing  to  a  close, 

And  all  the  shadows  on  the  grass  grew  long, 

Horace  led  her  to  a  rustic  bower, 

Where,  years  before,  she  had  so  often  sat. 

As  hushed  and  peaceful  as  were  their  own  hearts, 

The  lake  lay  stretched  before  them,  lighted  up 

With  tender,  iridescent  hues,  and  dotted  o'er 

With  snowy  sails  bright  with  the  sun's  last  rays, 

"While  all  the  western  heaven  was  glorious 

With  royal  colors  borrowed  from  the  sun. 

The  lovely  grounds,  the  lake,  the  glowing  west  — 

It  surely  were  sufficient  loveliness 

E'en  to  inspire  an  unpoetic  soul. 

They,  for  some  time,  in  happy  silence  sat, 

And  then,  "O  Horace!"  exclaimed  Madaline, 

"  I  would  that  I  now  had  a  poet's  power, 

That  I  might  paint  this  loveliness  in  words, 

That  others  with  me  might  the  beauty  share  !  " 


MADALINE.  159 


And  then,  half  pensively,  she  said  to  him  : 

"  Horace,  I  often  used  to  think  it  hard 

To  have  a  poet's  sensibilities, 

To  fancy  and  aspire,  and  yet  be  dumb. 

Often,  oh,  so  often,  have  I  ached 

With  tender  fancy,  or  with  fiery  thought, 

And  felt  that  I  must  write,  if  but  to  cool 

The  fever  that  consumed  ;  and  so  4n  haste 

Would  set  to  work  to  find,  alas  !  my  thoughts, 

Like  molten  metal  from  the  furnace  drawn, 

When  written  down,  had  grown  but  stiff  and  cold  !  " 

And  Horace,  with  the  poem  in  his  mind, 
Whose  sad  intensity  had  pierced  his  soul, 
Replied  :  "  Dear  Madaline  do  not  say  cold  ! 
They  were  not  like  to  molten  metal,  true, 
Whose  very  heat  makes  it  with  brightness  glow. 
You  will  forgive  me,  dearest,  when  I  say, 
Who  read  your  poems,  rather  felt  that  they, 
In  an  abyss  of  boiling  blackness,  looked. " 


160  MAD  ALINE. 


She,  then,  into  his  face  half  sadly  smiled  : 
"I  must  have  written  truer  than  I  knew, 
For  at  the  time  I  wrote,  my  mind  was  like 
Earth's  seething  chaos  ere  the  light  was  born. 
A  poet's  office  is  to  soothe  and  charm  ; 
So,  of  his  lyre,  must  gently  touch  the  strings, 
That  all  his  music  may  be  soft  and  sweet. 
I  did,  by  my  abruptness,  startle  all. 
Forgetting,  I  but  loudly  clashed  the  strings  ; 
For  I  had  suffered  much,  and  had  grown  harsh 
And  so  my  music  also,  when  I  played, 
Was  but  harsh,  too,  and,  if  inspired  at  all, 
Rather  by  Mars  than  by  the  god  of  love. 

A  poet  true,  with  fancies  delicate, 

Should  wrap  an  airy  veil  'round  nothingness, 

So  all  admire  its  graceful  loveliness. 

His  music  must  be  low  and  sweet.     He  should 

So  gently  touch  the  strings,  the  strains  will  be 

As  far  and  soft  as  sound  of  falling  snow, — 


MADALINE. 


161 


Or  whisperings  of  leaves  when  they  reply 
To  tender,  wooing  breezes  of  the  night. 
And  he  must  paint  his  pictures  with  a  brush 
Dipped  in  the  liquid  moonbeams  ;  or  the  faint, 
Sweet  tints  of  Summer's  clouds  at  set  of  sun. 

"My  writing,  at  the  best,  is  but  a  string 

Of  common  beads,  with  here  and  there  a  peart; 

Although  the  pearls  were  real,  who  'd  wear  the 

string  ? 

I  '11  be  your  poet,  Horace,  not  the  world's. " 
And,  looking  up  at  him,  she  sweetly  smiled, 
"  A  loving  critic  I  may  hope  to  please  ; 
It  would  be  pain,  however  just,  to  see 
Others  tear  in  pieces  what  I  weave, 
Declaring  it  ill- woven,  and  worse  spun, 
And  then  untwist  the  threads,  and  burn  a  bit, 
To  prove  it  only  common  cotton,  too  ; 
But,  Horace,  I  have  often  sighed  to  think, 
Many  with  divine  material, 


162  MADALINE. 


Which  might  a  fabric  make  of  priceless  worth, 
To  be  as  precious  heirloom  handed  down 
Through  coming  generations,  will,  through  want, 
Oft    spoil    their    work    by    haste,    and    all    for 

naught, 

Except  the  paltry  shillings  it  may  bring. 
Ghibertti,  on  his  gate,  toiled  fifty  years  ; 
And  on  one  poem,  Gray  saw  twenty  die, 
Ere  smoothed,  and  rounded,  to  its  perfect  shape. 
What  modern  worker  thinks  one  year  not  long  ? 
But  gems  of  thought,  'tis  true,  will  scarce  buy 

bread ; 

Few  can  afford  the  time  to  polish  them  ; 
And   though   one    spend  his   time  in   search   of 

pearls, 

Diving  far  down  into  his  nature's  depths, 
For  what  the  world  may  wear,  and  not  himself, 
That  world,  meanwhile,   stands  by  and  lets  him 

starve. 
'T  is  sad  that  poets  should  have  common  needs  !  " 


MAD  ALINE.  163 


And  Horace,  with  his  tender  smile,  replied  : 

kt  Ah  !  Madaline,  you  have  a  poet  soul ; 

And  you  might  write  true  poem,  if  you  would. 

And  in  the  school  of  grief,  where  you  have  been, 

The  best  born  poets  often  gain  their  wings. 

As  winged  Pegasus  sprang  from  Gorgon's  blood, 

A  thing  so  dread,  beholding  turned  to  stone, 

So,  from  the  blood  of  sorrow,  oft  will  spring 

Divinest  thoughts  and  fancies.     Yet,  Madaline, 

'T  is  very  sad  to  be  a  poet,  dear, 

For  all  true  thought  is  born  in  agony  ; 

And  child  of  Genius,  whatsoe'er  he  be, 

A  poet,  painter,  actor, — what  you  will,— 

Like  pelican,  tears  open  its  own  breast, 

And  feeds  its  offspring  with  its  own  life-blood." 

The  sun's  last  crimson  rays  had  disappeared, 
AVhile  Horace  and  his  young  wife  thus  conversed, 
And  as  they  watched  the  daylight  fade  to  dusk, 
He  drew  her  closer  with  his  circling  arm, 


164: 


MADALINE. 


And  looking  in  her  eyes'  deep  tenderness, 
He  whispered:  "Darling,  have  you  so  forgot 
Past  sorrows,  you  are  truly  happy  now  ? " 
And  as  her  eyes'  soft  light  beamed  into  his, 
She  answered,  in  a  low,  sweet,  thrilling  voice  : 
"So  happy,  Horace,  I  could  almost  weep." 

One  brief  look  more  at  Horace,  and  we  leave 
Him  and  Madaline  to  live  their  lives, 
In  unrecorded,  happy  usefulness. 
Two  years  have  passed  since  their  bright  wedding- 
day, 

And  in  the  halls  of  Congress,  side  by  side 
With  Edward  Vaughn,  sits  Horace  Hamilton. 
Thus,  even  in  these  days  of  Policy, 
Sometimes  is  real  merit  recognized, 
And  Virtue,  at  the  last,  receives  reward. 
Reward  !  "  Virtue  is  its  own  reward  "  ! 
How  childishly  we  talk,  as  if,  indeed, 
A  little  outward  honor  were  so  great ! 


MADALINE.  165 


And  is  it  not  enough,  that  when  we  use 

Our  moral  faculties,  the  exercise 

Doth  quicken  all  the  life-blood  of  our  souls, 

Till  all  its  members  thrill  with  new-born  strength  ? 

O,  young  man  of  to-day,  beware  !   beware  ! 

Let  not  your  moral  nature  become  dead, 

Paralyzed,  and  dead,  from  want  of  use  ! 

Keep  well  from  harm  your  Conscience,  that  you 

ne'er 
May  o'er  its  corpse,  too  late,  weep  your  remorse  ! 


DATE  DUE 


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